A Form of Daylight

This is not Dorothy Wordsworth’s “first mild

Day of March” made known by William’s poem.

It is the eleventh day of the month of 

Spring daylight in another clime 

Roaring with heat unseasonal unwanted 

By most desert inhabitants but not me.

I only complain of poor air quality 

That restricts my incessant walking along 

The canal awaiting now the hatchlings 

Soon ducklings in a brood opening 

The neighborhood all to the good of watchers 

Familiar with the Dawn commercial

Showing bodies and heads yellow as yolks 

In the pan though prettier and softer 

Drawing the hands alongside the eye 

Desiring union as if a distant 

Lovely ignorant form of parenting 

This tininess of spectacular 

Innocence that draws forth touch to match 

The eyes’ invisible oversight of love