It to say that summer knows nothing
about the April rain, the tulips
buried in dead dirt, the trees hiding their
buds amidst the crime scene of winter.
Suffice it to say that something is lacking.
Sticks cover the front lawn like bones.
Yes, the air is warm. It exhales May
from its lithe lungs, but what does that prove?
Spring has gone missing far too long.
Take the woodpeckers, for example,
who couldn’t identify the change of season
if they tried. They see what they want to see.
Suffice it to say the sun spotlights
shafts of light over everything
so we are unable to identify what existed.
Yet memory is never accurate.
Azaleas always forget that they are dying,
but they return year after year
to celebrate the anniversary of their passing.
Funny how a murder of crows can make
suffice sound like sacrifice.