The coming abundance sickens us.
Quick flush of bloom, sun-shocked,
the leaves unpeeling. Flocks
of robins, early, thrashing
the brown grass. In a dream,
I collided with an alternate
life and could not shake it. Beyond
the house, all the cars zipping
through their gallons. Another
index gain that suffering brings
to profit. Hands deep in
pockets. The preparation
for radiation and its side
effects. Mid-March, a freeze
squeezed the leaves to limp
rags. The maple’s next limb lost
to rot. Spine drained of fluid.
Airplanes timed in succession,
suturing the sky. You were
just a minute ago here: a face
the wind washed to a red
that was somehow both
synthetic and, for once, true.