i return with the cold of spring--
cut out from the evergreens,
soaked in pacific-mist and drizzle--

we ate ice cream for breakfast,
celebrated vocally at night,
wandered old town and the docks:

the hollowness, i sensed,
recognized the urgency,
socially felt religiously clandestine…

"O, ye fair ones; o, ye fair ones,
how could ye have departed
from the ways of the Lord…"

but i knew there, and i know still
that far northern spirit,
and the inconstancy of poesy.

02/16/2009