whirled in a bluegreen jar

and it’s 
spring 

when the world is puddle-wonderful
–E.E. Cummings

while the world moves;and every part stands still:
–E.E. Cummings 

::

stirred
, 
we see the sky 
     for what it is, 
a scrim we’re all 
  behind. a blind 

for hiding, abiding
on moon’s 
                darker
          side. 

we still
our hearts, our 
hands. the lands 
we love. 

we sit and sip 
   and take one more trip 
        around 
(and around and around) 
                  the sun. 

::
In April, she poems.