A New Season

The buffalo have been barren
for too long
and sallow fields
are quilt-puffed with promise.
The satyr-feet, antelope dancers,
peer in masked windows
and all the lines
are pulling my heart
into a birdcage.

Brother Worm,
write in my palm
that small and secret tracing
which means I are springfriend;
sea-wave comb my hair
till it puts forth briny limbs
to crabwalk on limestone and earth.

Catch the riddle of the lamp-posts
and hold it captive
in a bat's sigh
till newmoon light,
clinking on armor,
unlocks its petals.
Sing spring chants
to the shape of the aircat
around flying birds.

© Copyright 1999 Catherine Francis.
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