Spring Snow
By Arthur Sze
A spring snow coincides with plum blossoms.
In a month, you will forget, then remember
when nine ravens perched in the elm sway in wind.
I will remember when I brake to a stop,
and a hubcap rolls through the intersection.
An angry man grinds pepper onto his salad;
it is how you nail a tin amulet ear
into the lintel. If, in deep emotion, we are
possessed by the idea of possession,
we can never lose to recover what is ours.
Sounds of an abacus are amplified and condensed
to resemble sounds of hail on a tin roof,
but mind opens to the smell of lightening.
Bodies were vaporized to shadows by intense heat;
in memory people outline bodies on walls.
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Tuesday morning involved folding laundry and another installment in The Things I Watch For Love, a.k.a. the Colin Firth Film Festival. Showtime conveniently is now showing Femme Fatale, which I knew from
The miserable pouring rain that kept our streetlights on well after 9 a.m. finally stopped in the early afternoon, so when I took Adam to tennis, I could take a walk in Cabin John Park. It was a bit muddy, but I had the trails pretty much to myself, and there were finches and woodpeckers and lots of other birds all around, plus spring peepers singing all around. After dinner, due to the generosity of