—I’M LOOKING FOR AN ANSWER AND TRYING TO FIND A DIME

  

                                                   Silent Spring

It’s a silent spring, petals blooming like mimes or muted landmines, the geese perplexed, every sprout redacted, vacancy both abundant and redundant, the nerve of truancy tested, a taciturn sun leaning on the elbow of each hollow thing while I wait for you at the edge of the lake, writing sonnets in the weed grass, finger-painting your name across any wave that laps nearby, sending you a message of patience and hope, patience and hope bobbing like the shrill sheen of infinity.