The Four Seasons
Diane Mehta
Vivaldi strings into my head
Because I cannot concentrate
Through all the quiet and the dark
Hillsides glittering with houselight.
The tree-green grass is overgrown
With wild shadows from the hard
White bulb above my neighbor's porch:
Time is on the backs of houses.
The curtains cannot keep the hours
Outside; the sea becomes my clock,
The bells of evening mass broadcast
A cathedral on Balboa.
Unless a storm comes in tonight
The fog will settle in the eaves
And salt the slow Pacific wind
While pinecombs rattle softly.
A neighbor's fence is finally
Complete, the night symmetrical
As rulers that perimeter
Wild gardens, indiscreet weeds.
Collecting images of love
Like stars not meant for me, I watch
My neighbors draw the shades, an old
Man embrace his cat and look at me.
Tables of Content
Seventeen (Fall 2003)
Sixteen (Spring 2003)
Fifteen (Fall 2002) Fourteen (Spring 2002)
Thirteen
(Fall 2001) Twelve (Spring 2001)
Eleven (Fall 2000)
Ten (Spring 2000)
Nine (Fall 1999) Eight (Spring 1999)
Seven, (Fall 1998) Six, (Spring 1998)
Five (Fall 1997) Four (Winter/Spring 1997)