the sound of the crank of summer

it's all well green

it would seem &

down comes the sun

into my wintry lap

i see the first

girls with straps &

naked arms

gooseflushed as april

flesh in patterned

leaves

why when for so long

the dark clears to this

bell-clear morning

would my heart hang so

heavy in the

branches of that

budding space?

and in the sound of the crank

of summer &

dusting off of candlelight

where all is fresh and new and

smelling white

i kick a bird

it shatters