April Undefined

April Undefined

(“Because of the Lord’s great love we are not consumed, for his compassions never fail.” Lamentations 3:22)

April sometimes sits undefined,
a bird who sings and a gale that hides
new beginnings.
We move through it, the square numbers on the
calendar wall. We move through it, black mud,
cotton candy mornings and charcoal evenings.

We hear the next tornado warning,
in the south they start early, like winter in the
north country. We swear there is nothing to fear
until we pass the little house where the trees have
crashed through the roof, with only their roots showing.

Some are captive to their thoughts, still frozen to a dozen
winters past. Some are more active, breathing fire like
summer smashing into September.

Some inspect, others infect; some build siege ramps
upon the walls of the unexpecting. Some suggest quackery,
some just quake. Some cannot sleep, others will not weep;
some ritually send scapegoats over the cliff.

Some suggest wrath has blanketed every enemy, some
imply the enemy is us. 

But the few that view the first rays of morning see further
(sky-up and down; lake-mist and clear; earth-full and washed;
clouds-float and near). The few know that love
peeks through everything and fear hides in plain sight.
April sometimes sits undefined,

But always underlined by appointments with the breeze
that wafts sweet songs to children, oh! dance! Sage
and bluebonnets wear their jewels of the dew.