Each morning of the winter
the mirror revealed the slowness of life
in my gray stubble and deepening lines.

But the hair of the lawn
after its first cut
is Apriling a green surge,
its urgent release as irrepressible
as the Zarathustra orgasm of Strauss,
or the Joy-full giggle of a child
in the first splash of summer.

04/20/2002

Posted on 04/20/2002
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