Three Things that Happened in March
Left with imagination’s wounds,
I let fly over the Baltic a dream
of twenty petrels so tight in flight
they tweaked the Polish border
where there is no glamour
but some notable ancestry.
I extracted from my storehouse
ten-pound peals of laughter
for general buoyancy,
for the days are long and need to be infused
wherever one may find them.
I waited through March’s two waning moons,
thinking the planets
might conjoin and there would come others
with whom to break bread
if only for general displacement of melancholy
and to shake up any seraphs on pre-dawn standby.
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