March

By Charlotte Lieberman

How many steps does it take



to reach the low green narrow-



 



leaves which in a dream



were slowly being devoured



 



by cows and just a few sheep.



The animals are not hungry



 



grazing beside the wicker-



chair porch, you reading and eating 



 



a nectarine almost ripe.



If we could use any of it



 



our skulls would perforate,



 



would feel filamental



light braid itself through.



 



The pasture is a lawn.



 



Closely mowed it is



a household linen,



cushioned by sod,



 



made toxic by rain, peppered



by the wings of many insects.


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