Astronomical Spring

This morning at a certain time the sun
will align itself with the celestial equator:
You’re a lentil, pulp, a secret.
Outside the pear tree’s bloomed,
now sudden, starry white, snow
and winter’s end in the same glance.

*

Mammalian placenta’s like aspens,
a network of hundreds of trunks
dividing to limbs, then branches,
twigs, then thinner, feelers floating
in a shallow lake of murk and vitamins.
It’s not that the sky was pink—it was the air.

*

My daily passing under crepe myrtle bowers,
their crimped fingernail crescent petals
loosening from cone clusters,
nestling in my hair. I buy an atlas,
walk nowhere hours. I’m lonely—
funny, since now I’m never alone.