Its cavr murmurs Boo and I am taken and beguiled. I'll have to go again. And Lent will keep its hurt for someone else. Christ knows enough staunch guys have hitched him in trouble. Spring rusts on its skinny branch and last summer's lawn is soggy and brown.
Yesterday is just a number.
All of its winters avalanche out of sight. What was, is gone. Mother, last night I slept in your Bonwit Teller nightgown. Divided, you climbed into my head. I heard my own angry cries and I cursed you, Dame keep out of my slumber.