Sweet runs the water ever

out of spring and meadow,

frothing low, rising,

weaving through

the sodden grass.

Silver line, transparent flow,

zigzag

and shine and

swerve

where the willow damsel-

fly dives and climbs.

~~~

When I think of a beginning ~ before the beginning,

a needle on a gauge between something ~ and nothing, nothing

and something ~ then sticking at something,

the core of the earth ~ like a hot fist

gathering force ~ a dance set in motion

by a matrix contracting ~ it’s Spring beginning

or never ending, beneath all

change, continuing ~

look, look again,

at what was there,

is here, and if it is hiding,

it’s not hiding

from you.