The Lion's Book: A Poetry Collection

Thursday Evening Reflections

You have undone the spring;

left it for dead,

unwound and scattered about

like foreign constellations freckled 

'Cross the dark firmament

or dirtied shoelaces tossed

into the crevices of your hollow heart.

Words have scampered into

the meadows where affections

go to rest, never again to emerge,

tever again to echo against

the clamor of a city or

the foundation of a smile--

they have faded as a wave does

after crash, crash, crashing into

the beautiful shore.

Now all will turn to summer's blaze

and render the song of spring

mute.