Spring And I Are Restless

Poem By David Wright

Peach leaves emerge
in mid-February.
What are they thinking?

And barn swallows
show up to check the old nest
under the patio roof
as if it were already time
to nurture a clutch.

She reminds me I missed Jacques
this afternoon. True enough,
but I have the book
and this is not a day
to watch a cooking show.

I am considering this poem,
amazed again that spring
jump starts in south Texas,
and that near-forgotten memories
of Arizona's desert revisit my dreams,
quietly, gently,
like a pocket mouse with cheek pouches
turgid with seeds after a night’s work.

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