Prodigal Moon

by Daniel Lusk

More April cruelty:
a friend denied tenure,
aunt learns of bone cancer,
brother suddenly gone.

Budding spirea shattered,
peonies aborted,
tree limbs thrown down
on the lane.

Daffodils yesterday in riot
today hang their heads
in the snow. Yet

how generous the sunlight,
how ironic the tap
of the yellow–bellied sapsucker

and Wu Liufong alights
on the balance beam — a bird.
She has surely lied
about her age and genus.

Alone for now, I am
making soup of wherewithal.