SPRING IS HERE
Driving through the countyside
during the first few days of April,
blooming forsythias caught my eye,
their flaming golden light
testing credulity like the voice Moses
heard from a burning bush.
I passed a Rubenesque woman, fully clothed,
splayed out face down on a grassy patch
in front of a converted trailer
that no longer rode the road.
At first glance I thought she was dead,
but as I drove by I could see that she was sleeping,
hugging the fecund earth, blissfully embracing it,
welcoming oracular rumblings beneath her,
buried labor pains, promising yet another Spring.