Lucy Shoplifting (a painting by Archie Webb)

Ode to the vernal pools
that fill the season
of the woken mind.

To the chamomile and lace,
the orange blanket of closed eyes.

The reason for loving old spools of thread,
one mammoth blue and the other red.
And me knowing perfectly why.

For these things
I have a place of constant March time.
I have remembered for years, these two things.

One is that garlic skins resemble moth wings
so much it is uncanny.
The other, just a pear placed on a windowsill
to ripen in the afternoon sun.

I can smell the glass.

And in that place,
I know why I have come.