Poem — Dec. ’20 — “Fair”

You can work for a word but find, too late, that a touch will do

You can rely on touch until your corners all illuminate at once

And it’s suddenly exposure that purifies


Your habits don’t fight fair, though, so why should you?

The government don’t fight fair, though, so why should you?

Whatever finally cracks you shapeless won’t fight fair

So why should you?

But you should


Out across December’s brittle allotments someone knows how to

Tend even for winter

And how to choose the fixings and the fillings

That go with this place

That’ll do: a guide

Someone grandmothered into the hows and wheres

And the identifications of nonpoisonous fungi


December’s eyes are blasted wide open,

There’s so much to look at

Such a lack of colour and country to take in

So much to look at

So fair from edge to edge

To planar mysterium

To things-in-between-things,


And so remember to:

Be kind in spite of, always,

And not because of.

(For that errant way a great and Decemberish laziness of spirit can only lie)

And the clipping shears are already being dipped in a steaming bucket

In a great shed, or what have you,

Preparing Spring’s recriminations;

Her Logicks;

Her miraculous gabled house.