The Second Day
Well, it’s
here, this Spring
we held
out for. The mountain turns
her shadow
one inch north.
We can’t see
it, of course,
but our
bones feel the tilt
of
gravity and try to save
one more hour
of sun. Time
is
indifferent to the tides of men.
This man’s
neap is that man’s full.
On the far
side of the world
a
fisherman wades in, spear
in hand. He flings the bait,
once more
not taken, but hope
holds on. In his bones he feels
the tilt of
gravity, packs up
the hour he
saved and his fishing gear.
He will try
again tomorrow,
the
second day of Spring.
—Donnell
Hunter
21
March 2012
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