Wrist Deep

New Shape

Spring came and went so quick,
or did it leave? Within the week
rain had destroyed the soil
and heat came back reliable
as a migratory bird, heavy
shadow spread on the light green
shoots of new grass sprouting.
Two days and the trees had flung
themselves into the air, burst
into dark bud like an unshaved face.
Distinguished. And now grizzled
beneath the low returning clouds.

And sometimes the morning fog
settles down like a bum and begs
against the buildings, blurring lines,
undefining the visible. But sometimes
the drops smash against the brickwork
of the taller nightscape and from them take
on new shape; light streamed windows
like hearts on fire, like hearts aglow.