it's so hard to dig into creeley when birds are chirppin outside
i hang here in a cloud of my own smoke
there is an inexplicable pane of glass between us.
spring is a gruff ancient american big and brutal as a mountainside
pulling himself up by his bootstraps
and also an old love earthen wrinkled mother
wrestling incidentally with the dogwood blossoms in her hairline.
we, the continual cyclists of burst n bloom.