Abecedarian Cento: Springing Hope
Laurie Kolp
 
 
As spring has always been
barnacle-studded stone
crying out to petals, 
days of growing light
effortless prattles of birds
flowers of rain fondling 
green-furred flats
hidden in the ground of uncertainties.
 
I feel the sun’s tenderness on my neck.
“Just a minute,” says a voice
killing me with delight, as spring has always done.
 
Light under the love we have, the sun and I
moments heavy, licking up shade
narrowing hidden roots
of roses, delphiniums, daisies,
pale flowers of the rain 
quarrelling among themselves.
 
Rough ground of uncertainties:
summer in my mouth, cramming moments
touched by light.
 
Understand I am always trying to 
voice loneliness and its consequences,
walk through growing stillness, the 
inexplicable ways a hundred
years still spring my words
gauzy and furzy acres paralyzing eyes.
 
 
*All lines of Mary Oliver remixed