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Homecoming in Late March
Things change, of course: the girl next door, just turned Twelve, now affects indifference and a bra. And in the backyard, the snow fence is down- Wind, I suppose. Yet out beyond the garden, ' The leisurely shoots of skunk cabbages curl Up through the loam. And there is still the creek And the light rippling on the underside Of the stone bridge. And so, an old peace? No. But something, perhaps, on which the mind can close: Impartial quiet, tentative repose.