Fancy Sparrow, by Dan Lubelski

Three Poems, by Judith Weyl

How Samara Becomes Samsara

A confusion
of wind helicopters

muddles
spring.

Over fences, organic
waves

overwhelm
yards,

drown
porches,

invade
purple petunia petals.

Flattened wings-
whirligig kisses

spin
across canyons,

hitch-hike people,
steal

wind-weary
rides

on scarab beetles. One
tucked in each tea-green sepal.

Last year’s maple
tree extension

spread
bitter

seed.
A winged fruit-like mess.

Buried
in summer sweet grass

sheaths
reposed.

And now

in droves
these damn twisters

spin in spring
again.

spring in the Minneapolis zendo

whoosh! cold flew away

outside sweet sparrow singing

the window open

When spring knocks, I remember the girl with long red hair

(for Kim)

i
In cold November
I braced myself for wind

like a stick
I propped up against a barely-bent oak.

On trodden
Minnesota ground, dropped leaves

piled in a heap
at the foot of a grey-weathered barn.

Too soon,
for my sweet friend

I lamented,
her fate turned into cancer.

Not fully grown, yet
gone.

In an untoward freeze
a stream no longer moving

silenced.

I cried for her.
I cried for me.

ii
With melting,
spring

knocking at the barn door
releases a melody.

A harmony
with warbling.
From sorrow’s long season I stir.

Not on snow melt, or fallow field.

But in the heart.
Cleansing rain

softens arid ground.

In unobscured April air,
a desolate desert

flowers. Ocotillo cacti
flourish

in a flood of petals, smooth
scarlet

flowing over.