An Easter of Doubt
A second Easter filled
Saturday together
the rush to spring was stilled
with each beetle gather
an occasional voice
joy as light as feather
as redemptive as choice
consequential blossom
a moment to rejoice
could not afford such sums
a bluebird vacancy
to hand clean all the crumbs
hope this hides truancy
to smell vanilla bark
a simple currency
here is where my words lack
this powerful movement
this hunt out by the shack
"It's too early," I meant,
"to count where our times went."