THE GREENHOUSE
So this is paradise, I would think
When, in late winter, we stepped out
Of winter and into spring.
The greenhouse was glorious,
But it was a rushed, undeserved glory.
To go in was to be catapulted
A month ahead and to leave
The overwintering land behind.
Through the fogged windows
The earth seemed cursed
So that I felt guilty, the same quality
Of guilt I felt after glimpsing
Our Christmas presents
Through the gap
Between sliding doors.
I wanted her to hurry up
And choose her herbs and geraniums
Already, her lily and tulip bulbs,
My guilt turning to longing
For the moment when
We stepped out of spring
And into winter
And I would think,
So this is the world.
So this is paradise, I would think
When, in late winter, we stepped out
Of winter and into spring.
The greenhouse was glorious,
But it was a rushed, undeserved glory.
To go in was to be catapulted
A month ahead and to leave
The overwintering land behind.
Through the fogged windows
The earth seemed cursed
So that I felt guilty, the same quality
Of guilt I felt after glimpsing
Our Christmas presents
Through the gap
Between sliding doors.
I wanted her to hurry up
And choose her herbs and geraniums
Already, her lily and tulip bulbs,
My guilt turning to longing
For the moment when
We stepped out of spring
And into winter
And I would think,
So this is the world.