"April at Hark’s Bar" - Gregory de Rocher
In the further afternoon, at Hark’s Bar,
April stares through her beer.
Her slouch aims her gaze into the blond cosmos
where snow is falling upside-down.
It explodes and disappears on the yellowing mirror.
April, who was fairest of them all, April without showers,
before her flowering, when the gardens of Eden
were as nothing to her perfumed bowers and irised spendor,
when her eyes were life itself contemplating new life,
love enshrined, grace in the flesh, joy oblivious of its bounds,
before hops were summoned to make her new again . . .
That April is gone,
so she will now have time for yet another.
(photo by Michelle Castleberry)