Why Bother Resurrecting the Dead

When their multitudes of affliction may better serve
a second earth,

that needs more haunting through its branches—
needs more briar, less water &
more apology. Even

the weeping cherry seems less romantic, now,
having blossomed tiny handkerchiefs
& cast them down—

it belongs to the realm of barn-born kings & the first-
born sons of Herod
(whose springs were silenced underground).

I have to believe that what I love is not wrapped up in
the finite magic of a discourse,
already drawn.

& that the first place is moving on, so that the
first word is not, finally, spoken, but
stays on the palate—

just as the sparrow stays among the palmetto fronds.
Not still,

or having any thought we think it should—
but warbling in ways we
have not known.

Copyright © 2007 Jane Springer All rights reserved
from Dear Blackbird,
The University of Utah Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission