Lee Evans

Gather the four corners of the sky into your fist,
Like the ends of a blue tarpaulin loaded
With last year’s autumn leaves and snapped branches;
Haul it away behind you across the back yard,
To the edge of the ravine where winter’s water seeks its own level,
Piped under the street and between your neighbor’s houses,
Into the marsh where the first red winged blackbird
Swings on last year’s cattails and chirrups a lyric ode
To the all-encompassing blue tarpaulin of spring chores.