Maryland’s not known for its
Mountains, but today will do⎯
Spring’s first dogwood snow.
Lovers kiss near the precipice.
A 9,700 pound canon had a radius
Of 360°. The Union could break
A lot of hearts with that fire
Power. Imagine, looking up
Into the veil of redbuds, purple
Spider wort, the last of Virginia
Bluebells, to witness iron death
Inescapable. That feels familiar,
Doesn’t it? Destruction on a
Clear spring day. Here on the
Heights, it seems safe for now.
But there’s always the sky.
There is no death for the flying leaper,
Butterfly chaser, rainbowed, reaching,
The spotted twist, bone-white whiskers–
Late night flopper, flouncing close.
Green eyes golden in a cold kitchen.
Your purring pulse, brushing warmly past,
Chattering hellos. Tail like a marching baton–
So much joy! Forever curled in sunlight.
Chin up! I hear you now, padding down
The steps to the front door and out–out,
Where we all go to play, soft-eyed, so happy
To say, once again, “Oh! There you are!”
I heard it first from Socrates—
Wind through the mind,
Rosemary blossoms and bumblebees.
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
An atheist in high school, dismissing
Warring clans. Trademarking truth!
Pragmatically insisting that
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
I was married, divorced. With all
The best intentions of course.
So many opportunities. Am I cursed?
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
Soften your gaze and it becomes clear—
Gently crosseyed, leaping dolphins appear.
Learning in reverse that
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
Gurus at the pizza place—
Bringers of light! Yoga teaches
We can stand on our face.
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
At last, the sun in April. Glowing trees!
Illuminated day, breathing lilac!
Clouds too bright to see!
What I don’t know could fill a universe.
Abrupt distractions—
Cherry petals affixed
To my boot soles, now
Peppering the pavement.
No, not pepper—
Pastel. Softness,
The sopping skies
Salted with sighs,
Cars cresting the round
Mountain, moving
Clouds in all directions.
Neon vaporous April.
We forget! How abruptly
We are reminded—
Trails of cherry
Blossoms beneath our feet,
We do well to let go.
Not far from the highway
Two sycamores rise from
The same stump, so alike
In every way they appear
To be twins. But nothing is
Completely identical; lives
Are composed of contrast.
And although from the road
They seem to be greeting
Passersby synchronistically,
It’s just as easy to interpret
One is waving goodbye to
The other: “I’m aware you
Believed we were united,”
One tree says to the other,
Its back turned for a century,
“But farewell. We’re certain
To meet once more—after
All, we have sprung from
The same root for eternity.”
Oh, mirror! We never see
Our eyes—only reflections
In the gaze of new lovers,
The glass of passing cars,
Until, leaving the body we turn,
At last recognizing ourselves.
