Spring

Morning coffee cooling, the language

just out of reach. Harsh slashes

on wind, on water, loves caught up

in old songs, gone

to seed. Yet we hear them

coming again, stirring

in groin, oh no

oh yes — it’s spring

*

And so I leave behind “National Poetry Month,” whatever that means; shocked that I actually managed to post something every day. I had fun doing it. Will try to keep posting regular-like, but my focus will shift to the ongoing translation work. Kalamazoo beckons with a couple of papers I need to write and revise, and what I would like to do — what I’ve been promising myself to do for many years now — is sift through the many books and chapbooks and zines I’ve acquired over the past several years and post about them here. Hopefully, then, I’ll keep blogging, “against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past,” as they say.