Spring juice has spiked the drinks of the wisteria.
Baby buds betray their deathly
origins
and fling forth unexpected blossoms
-
no one would guess that parental
branches,
tangled and conservative with age,
could produce such children
even under the influence of spring.
This is ridiculous, this riot of new
life
flying in the face of entropy.
Things are supposed to slide
to chaos and disorder.
But myriad pathways
of regrowth confront us
as we seek to come to terms
with limits of our lives.
Spring defies our understanding
driving artists, singers, poets
to seek out ways
beyond the limits of cognition
to describe miraculous events.
And, dear reader, are you implicated
as you listen to or read
this, another poem, about spring?
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