Listen, Sing

One day in April,

when it seems

the world has nothing left

to give, the empty beds begin

exploding with a green sweetness

thought impossible; the sun

offers herself up

once more

to the vast oceans of grass;

the birds return, each

with a new song

and a careful patience

that knows when to listen

and when to sing.

The earth invents herself again.

I do not pretend to know how.

I am nearing twenty,

and sometimes it seems

all I’ve ever done is wait.