There Will Be Renewal

Basil Rosa

When willows yellow and grasses cringe,
when frogs and crickets creep with sparrows,
when girls with slow faces learn how to sing.

An innocent has died. We mourn.
Pulled toward the earth we find and make our trail
back to the mystery where our nothingness began.
Does anyone really want to live forever?
Gravity is. It never happens.
I wish to collect and refund such gravity.
My hair smells like my heart
smells like methods, an art, daffodils
that rehearse in chorus.
I don’t have to become one of the mourners
because I already am –
unimaginative and too hungry for success.
I scorn myself as one too jealous.
I prefer to be a duck because I can swim all day,
boast a dry back and nobly disinterested intentions.

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