for the Day13th
A seasonal poem.
Grey spring, and the lovers
tickle and pinch in their lunch-break,
birds sing at night like car alarms
and flies half-wake
at noon, staggering in the rain
amid the rooftops greening weeds.
Motley pigeons pirouetting
make a prelude to begetting,
take up their mumbling amorous strain
insistently till she concedes.
Pushing the jonquils left
March, the month of many weathers,
menaces their slender, bold height.
On stiff feathers
the city kestrel mewing
hangs overheard, then swoops away.
May no lovers fondly petting
make overtures to regretting
and nobodys buttons undoing
be theirs, dear lord of love, we pray.
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