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.”)
(“No. Over there.”)
Your final dream will be that of the January moon
bowing politely to the water in the streets.