Dubious Spring

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wheel of wet-stamping silver,

rain day,

all day green dusk.

am I real?

slip to hide

later. here is the locust

here is the sweetgum

here is the aspen

I am hassled by undoing

as age roots in my body,

rocks the red

deeper.

deep more-startled

red of blood

that in the veins

is not red,

lateness crowds

at the edge of dusk

and the prairie

made of rotting

wood boards

wheel of wet-tramping silver

your year is drawn

longer. we all shelter

in the year

year of green seeing

I don’t know if I’m

enough. don’t know if

I will be

there are a thousand

blossoms in the acre

outside the house