April Manna

By Jo Anzalone 1996

 

Sweet April with her tender sighs
     begins her second week of life,
          lifting up to God
             her offering
                 of tiny lilac leaves.
Easter has been fulfilled,
                          has passed
         into resurrection.
So...
     why
         is the world
                     blanketed
    in snow?
 

 

One would expect
              such blueness of the sky
              such sunlight
To arc their presence over spring pastels
But,
           no,
The world is
              white...
   and no one is about.
Fuzzy Sam and I slip out
       to wander where we will;
          the ridge is ours
                           alone,
A secret treasure
     through which to run the fingers
                                 of my heart.
So
    lightly
            does its whiteness lie on twigs
     it seems to lift
        and not to weigh,
And in the glowing morning light
   its fluff on every pod and stem
       fills my silent garden
          with sparkles
             and "blossoms"
   surely magical enough to please
           a flower--fairy queen.
An ethereal visitor,
    it lays its benediction on the land
          like manna in the dawn,
   melting
      with the coming of the day.
And I, alone,
               with my lensed black pot
   store it
     before its passing,
Framing views as powdered sugar snow sifts down,
     brushed from high branches,
I know,
              by angel wings.
Its beauty
            enhanced
                     by transience,
It fills my heart.

 

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