March 2024

reveals itself in retrospect. Unlike the first,
whose March arrival bade you gasp, hands clasped,
like a child actor instructed to show joy, when the last
departs for points south, there’s no telling,
and no tell. Well, so what? You know their cycle.
In August, they swarm the feeder, all swagger,
greedy tussle for sugar water. Suddenly…

hand, milk, mama,
in that order in
the shape of a Hand—

          a square in the bucket a
          corner in the square
          clang tin a shiny song—

pink cup, coffee, urn,
in that order in
the shape of a House—