In the shifting green
light of this April morning,
I sat with my books.

You came to me and
said, “You fool! How often have
I opened my gown

to you! Put your cold
hand on my breast. My nipples
harden. Count your bless-

ings.” I woke. The sun
had moved. I closed the books in
my lap and went out.


My mind can’t keep up
with all the changes in broad
daylight: delicate

greens overtake each
other in the yard, the trees
moving like dancers.

In my amazement
an other to spectacle
appears outside my

reflections, beyond
every lovely shade of
green and more intense.


Recalled: this morning’s
lectio. God is pluri-
vocal and (over)

full. Her low laughter
spills across the street. I look
up but she is not

there. It’s Spring! Between
God and my love the signs are
scrambled beyond hope.