In a wet Spring
signs of implacable grace
are the only signs of abundance
but they are everywhere:
the truffled Tom under a car;
an enormous blue tree – blue with cold,
I expect – on the auction-house stairs;
and the thought, oddly
comforting at four in the morning,
that unfinished skyscrapers
the world over
reach a miraculous conclusion
when the clouds lift.
Even waiting for a date
to get to the point is the sort
of penance Spring enjoys.
If it could speak, it might say:
“Think of my lone pink flowers
or white outbursts
as mutineers who do not know
their nuisances are needed.”
Will Eaves’ essay on music and writing, “The Point of Distraction”, will be published later this year, along with “Invasion of the Polyhedrons”, a collection of poems
[See also: The NS Poem: Growing Grass]
Content from our partners
Related
This article appears in the 13 Mar 2024 issue of the New Statesman, The battle for Keir Starmer’s soul