I'm not sure
what you'd like to learn
from me
about
early spring,
otherwise
I would say more.
There was that southern
Michigan April -
driver's licenses tucked tight in
wallets -
when nonetheless
we climbed ladder-like
tree limbs
and continued to pretend.
Eight-barrel
evenings
pulled themselves
along
inland lakes -
over dusk and across
Sundays.
That's the way it was;
Joy Division,
Buddy Holly,
and the Gaithers.
Later, alone,
I dreamed
tin-gold dawns;
lists of ways to wait.
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