David A. Goodrum 

Interrupted Spring

wild carrot       just the memory of lace
wavers in the wind       cowled and curled up

brown dry umbel       above pale field straw
decrepit royalty       unless the dormant seeds sprout
 
heading up to the bald hill
the iced-over puddles have melted
 
revealing the muddy earth
my footing unsteady
 
as I spill over       and fail
at grasping the saturated ground
 
back home taunting forsythia
streams stems       of otherwise bare
 
yellow fingers       stretching up
towards a changing sky
 
before the night’s hoar frost
chokes their promise
 
evening has been drawn in
by night’s sketch artist
 
the nearly extinguished sliver moon
inked then blotted       then inked again
 
the fogged horizon to the west
dimly reflects the town’s light
 
and awaits everything else to fall
in its wake      leaving me alone
 
with my thoughts       blankets providing no warmth
worry beads       with the varnish rubbed off
 
and such poor company       they always
refuse to leave even when offered a bed