Children Blossoming in Broken Homes: An Inconstant Spring
Alan Cohen

Every cry of color is alive
Undaunted by the season’s vagary
No delicate unfolding yet begun
Before high summer melted off the chill
And yet when early seeds began to fall
From trees scarce green they fell through the cold like snow
And maple, elm, crab-apple, willow tree
Bathed like late turning leaves in icy skies
This season swelling, an old tired star
Engulfing what it sheds, by turn and turn
Distracted, by a hint of distant gold
This season wears an unremembered robe
And rages in an unforgotten tongue