Changing Forecast
Look how the sun has emerged, despite
expectations and the wringing of hands.
A new warmth rises on the April wind.
I am here again at the old crossroads: action
at odds with intention. Accomplishment sacrificed
to the short-term pleasure of just being here.
Is it so wrong to stop and reevaluate
the day’s agenda? If they will pay
for the same work tomorrow, why hurry
past this hour when it all begins to make sense?
You and me, this unlikely house. Look,
the weeds have turned into forget-me-nots,
and we didn’t kill the lemon after all.
Come, sit beside me and listen: I swear you can hear
the Bermuda grass growing, oak shadows deepening,
this old planet spinning on a new axis.