by Martina Reisz Newberry

Artwork, “City Garden” by Nora Phillips

There are no conclusions to be drawn

though we keep looking for them.

Action overrides belief–Rock, Paper, Scissors. 2

In the mind, a delicious transparency pokes fun

at your efforts, says Don’t fear the splayed

leaves of unfolding plants. They are not resurrected

to frighten you. They move in the wind with

grace only allotted to green and growing

things moving in the wind.

If it’s fear you crave, look deeply

into Winter’s black mornings.

You’ll see yourself, tremulous mouth trying

to whistle, hearing strange rhythms beating

outside the window.

There are no conclusions to be drawn,

but you’ll come to learn, outside conclusion,

that the moon is as hollow as a bad man’s heart.

The endless squabbles between sanity

(“Here. Come Here.”)

and spirit

(“No. Over there.”)

will stop.

Your final dream will be that of the January moon

bowing politely to the water in the streets.

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