Seasonal Difference by John Dowell

Spring follows
the moon’s crystal night.
Crocus crawl
from the cold blue dark
like a child’s yellow baubles
Summer bees buzz
and the honeysuckle high
chases the tail of August,
like a flock of starlings,
across the blistered sky.
Fall ripe persimmons
that dangerous fruit;
mallards take wing
before the gavel falls—
ragged writing points south.
Winter, the wandering jester,
taunts mad angels,
their wounds bound with birch bark.
Limber the bow of ash;
leave me to myself.
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