Spring - Bill Callahan

The wind is pushing the clouds along

Out of sight

A power is putting them away

A power that moves things neurotically

Like a widow with a rosary

Everything is awing and tired of praise

Mountains don’t need my accolades

Spring looks bad lately anyway

Like death warmed over

And the bantam is preening madly

Waiting for the light of day

And all I want to do

Is to make love

To you

With a careless mind

With a careless, careless

Who care’s what’s mine?

We call it Spring though things are dying

Connected to the land like a severed hand

I see our house on a hill on a clear blue morning

When I am out walking my eyes are still forming

The door I walk through and I see

The true Spring is in you

The true Spring is in you

My wide worlds collide

And mind-wide words collide

And seasons kaleidoscoping

And all I want to do

All I want to do

Is to make love

To you

In the fertile dirt

In the fertile dirt

With a careless mind