"Opening day" - Mark Bromberg
On opening day the sun is too bright, the leaves
too green; as if intoxicated with sap
each bough nods in every breeze,
and the sun spins crazily to its collapse.
This is the drunken vernacular of earth.
In confusion and the wild plan
of new things spring will not still itself
nor be advised by man.
How can it be? To follow Winter's slow
and lazy sleep, to shake
each branch and bud in bloom,
then leap into furious April, make
rain in secret ambush hide
for every blade of grass. The mad Architect
of Spring must keep his witless masters
tossed in sleep, to reflect
man has no design or towers
surpassing the insanity of flowers.