Spring Lesson


In the barn loft
behind the last haybale
I found the pale
shed skin, gray
as dawn,
peeled back and left.

I would have drawn
a moral then—
how one day
one can wriggle out
of all that one has been
and shout

the news, "I'm born
again."—except I've seen
that saint in shining black
clean the robin's nest
and crack
the new laid egg.

The news is grim:
The robin's chick
will never hatch.
Behold the thick
black snake. Reckon,
if you can, with him.