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May Morning

Deep into spring, winter is hanging on. Bitter and skillful in his
Hopelessness, he stays alive in every shady place, starving along the
Mediterranean: angry to see the glittering sea-pale boulder alive
With lizards green as Judas leaves. Winter is hanging on. He still
Believes. He tries to catch a lizard by the shoulder. One olive tree
Below Grottaglie welcomes the winter into noontime shade, and
Talks as softly as Pythagoras. Be still, be patient, I can hear him say,
Cradling in his arms the wounded head, letting the sunlight touch
The savage face.

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Poem May Morning - James Wright