PRE-OP SPRING DAY IN MARCH 2022 It's been too long till spring - is false. It's here, in time. just as it always was, a thing like a wheel or a poem, rhyme; that is, it has its schedule, takes its turn, happens as it does. Still, the sun climbing trees, I'm full to bursting with light's to and fros. All is event, like thought, argument, war or love; like a pacemaker device, implant I fear to have, spent hours returning like a general to their tent. It's life itself that surveys maps, terrain, future battlefields. Nothing less than this glorious day of impractical miracle-sun, big yields, obliterates memories of lockdown, shelters underground, darkness that preys on mind and heart-valves, those skelters that turn about like unlovers, May's dancers around the burgeoning pole. I'm alive, for now, pre-op, thoughtful, re-reading The School of Donne , again, to be reminded of a deceased friend to look at a brilliant
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