The hope of a blujay sings

By Tara Labovich

 

​like an elder, crock-full of story. 
Look up: the juniper still holds
onto blue blue dusty berries.

If you come to a place again, again,
time begins to fall like seeds
from the feeder—any order, always hunger.
 

I fall between seasons.
But hands in dirt, I hear
the American Robin
 

carol again and I forget
for a moment—
I believe, despite knowing, it is spring.

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