False Spring Anthony Francesco
The games your eyes can play;
as a boy crops up in your periphery
by whisper of flashbulbs in the dark,
or the heat off the car hood that warps highways, underwater.
But how can I tell a trick from design?
I must be a fool to think the bright
red berry waits -
swelling on its stem with photosynthesized sunlight -
to fall under the weight of ripeness.
Oh, and the potential it yields!
branching onward and onward
in a lattice of spires and forks no one could dare map.
Or that -
As a false Spring settles in the middle of February, as
spiders thaw enough to spin looms between strangely bare boughs,
and fawns watch the earth, expecting the fruits that should arise,
It's only me,
awake for every shift of tide,
present to greet the anomaly
like it will stay.
They know better,
they don't emerge
they don't watch:
the sap holds fast.