Martin Willitts, four poems


Light changes slowly with subtle words

such as cautious and determinedly,

marking a demarcation line across the horizon,

delineating between day and night

taking over the sky. The drakes in the wetlands

are excited by the transformation.

Above, in daylight, you can see the moon

like a white wafer. Perception only amazes

the participant who never notices

the daily occurrences with minor variations.

What are different are the blending shades,

the clouds wheeling like hawks, the way light

haunches on the edge while day begins or ends.

There is always this anticipation of the differences,

and the end results are that our expectations are met —

not in color, or uncertain times for the transfers,

but in the way no two days begin or end the same.

Thousands of years, the universe has palpitated,

expanded and contracted like a heart,

with such restlessness, and we barely notice

what is plain to the eye: the universe is constant

and changeable. We barely break the surface

of observation and when we do, we take for granted

the drakes will migrate when marshes are ice tinged,

and the drakes will return when spring returns,

never considering it might be otherwise.

Early Warning

Was it steadfast for the apricot

to remain on a tree

and be covered by early snow?