iii. spring
I see her in the
kitchen putting
away a colander;
she tells me
the sky does
not need it
anymore
She is living a Sapphic love
for things that need no water
to grow in a window box; I
remember two weeks ago a
letter arrived postmarked a brief
condolence of winter passing.
(She sat for days by the fireplace, motionless, weeping with dead violets in her lap.)
