Up in the attic,

a partition

put up by a past generation.

On the wall

stained paper. Peel!

Uncover the wood.

Reveal the new.

Behind the barn

a small round pool,

not shallow or deep,

not warm or cool.

Rinsing. Renewal.

Water. Sleep.

Our reconfigured

families lie

back in the pool,

gaze at the sky,

a tender blue.

It’s barely dawn.

It’s twilight too.

It’s still early.

It’s getting late.

Here we are:

no time to wait.

The soil is frozen.

It’s winter now

but spring is stirring.

New plants will grow.

Their roots are stretching


already they’re pushing

toward the sun.

I look at you.

I love you so.

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This article originally appeared in The New Criterion, Volume 34 Number 1, on page 27
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