in April

The rain
before our very eyes
makes green this wooded space.

You put another log
upon the fire.

The rising
wind stirs up the
deepest water of this lake.

I put another log
upon the fire.

And all the things
I meant to think about
are washed away,
beneath the wavesounds
and beneath the endless,
falling rain,
beneath the endless
falling of
your hands.

-- Deb Cooper

Send Comments to Greg Gordon MD, CFI, cydoc@earthlink.net
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