will I crack the world
into rocky little dreams
and applaud each tiny explosion?
An early April sun
sings its silver joy
in the sigh of morning
and the skeletal sugarberry
must wonder if it can flower
in April's ascending sun.
Don't worry about tomorrow:
the world falls into the waiting void
or bravely spins into orbit.
Maybe I'll live to sing another crystal dawn;
and though I bless my chances
I can't number my days.
Here I am
singing my way into and out of
whatever glows and glowers
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