APRIL
April!
how startlingly
your pink-purple
shadowed haze
assaulted me
at the edge
of days
and valleys
the evening sky
was a carnival
the air
a tinted midway
for us to run through
excitedly
and the nights
were rinsed nights
distilling clarity
from a distant darkness
that sent blue winds
to rock
half-wakened branches
SCATTERED RUINS
the doors of the temple are bolted shut
all the pilgrims are turned away
no more holy footsteps pressing
broad against the whispering sand
the prayers of priests reduced to mumbles
words held fast in white stone walls
lost to ears long since turned deaf
disciples whose faith had never been
the sun has burned the sky to orange
only dust returns to bow
and knock at the portals with the wind
dust rests at the step once more
THE SITE OF THE WORLD'S FAIR IN WINTER
it stands now
a park
quiet roads
rows of small
well- kept
trees
but on
the midwinter-
hard ground
the trees
are spindly brown
and the grass
bristling through the snow
forms
forsaken tundra
the park seems now
a ruin
a modern Pompeii
a fabricated desolation
creased by
unbroken roads
and crowned
with the petrified
metal skeleton
of the unrevolving
extinct globe
a ruin
empty
wrinkled
stooped
hungrier
than the ribs
of the parthenon
lying weak,
spread-limbed
under a heatless
pale white sun
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