O April

O, April!
These new shapes you yield –
These new memories longing for old ones:
The silhouettes of trees in round windows,
Boughs white in bloom,
The long-sleeping branches coming to bear this stacked light.

How can anyone think
That they are the same body that walked
On an April the year before?

How can anyone mistake the sudden warmth of
Your breeze for anything
But the dream that they had in
The wombdark of winter,
Of the promises made to them?

We did nothing,
Nothing at all;
We simply waited in cold terraces
Sweetly freezing our bones –
All we did was to wait for your unfolding

And it is all we can do now
To quiet the greedy pulse that wants more warm
To feed its little fire –

So here we are, April.
Another birth perched on the bale of years,
Another open mouth
Clamoring, once again,
To be fed -

So, we are fed.