This isn’t a new poem – in fact, it begins my first book, Here Along Cazenovia Creek, praise poems to the changing seasons in the beautiful hill country of western New York. There is no spring like that after a long winter. Here in Hilo, we have had the longest, coldest, rainiest winter in history,…
Spring by Cazenovia Creek iThe roses have come throughthough some are dead to the ankles.Now, in this cheerful airthey must be feeling painwhere the dead places are stretchedby little flames of juice – when it catches they burnburgundy and green and green. iiGreek Persephonein her dry meadowscould linger, could fritterpicking orchids and anemones but hereearth…