First Rite Poem by Malcolm Evison

Reluctantly compliant twigs
permit the murmuring wind
to pluck arpeggios -

they glisten as they dance,
throw off the recent rain,
as if to solemnize the ground

in Holy baptism.
Shoots drill
through the cold

sodden ground,
shrilling defiance.
Snow’s residue,

a blanket stitch,
hems in the pale green spears.
A sunbeam breaks

the day’s grey wash -
as if to bless
this new emergence.



24 January 2007