April 19

Of snow fallen late, so very late in crestfallen April

and sticking still to the very trees that held it all

the winter long and still as transformative as

stepping off an airplane into the hot wind of Tunisia

sitting in a rowboat trailing fingers in the stream

carrying all that one can fit into open arms

the pendulum swing of sight behind memory

how to unwrap the white parcel to find

some hoped-for contents of green