Sonnet for the April New Moon
Hail, bright crescent, mirrored in flooded streams,
and shining on lakes freed from winter ice.
Kestrel hovers, hunting unwary mice;
beneath dead leaves, green revolution teems:
fern and skunk cabbage sleep in pungent dreams;
beetles in fallen oak add their own spice.
Under gray stone, ants build their queen a space,
and bears begin to remember their names.
Your sickle threatens still-barren branches,
and much will live and die beneath your shear,
struggling to spring to maturity.
Foals no longer shake on new-formed haunches,
yet some, at least, will not survive the year:
Cruelty gleams in your shining purity.