Only The Seasons Have Shifted

March left grit along the curb April put green back in the trees The café carried chairs outside I took the table facing east No message under anything No final sentence on the door The swallows occupied the roof I counted seven then one more I turned the calendar facedown Still, every window changed its view Only the seasons have shifted The trees rehearsed letting go The river changed its handwriting Under the first skin of snow You left no word I could answer No ending I could call wrong Only the seasons have shifted I stayed where the sentence stopped August blistered paint from benches October coppered every hill The station changed its boards at midnight Your name was standing still I learned how absence alters weight: A coat can pull a whole room down A second glass becomes a question When no one comes to turn it round No witness No warning No date I could defend Just weather passing through the frame And starting up again Only the seasons have shifted The trees rehearsed letting go The river changed its handwriting Under the first skin of snow You left no word I could answer No ending I could call wrong Only the seasons have shifted I stayed where the sentence stopped If I call it leaving I can blame you If I call it death I have to kneel So I keep the verb without an ending And let the weather make it real Only the seasons have shifted The branches empty, then fill The river keeps revising itself I keep your tense standing still You left no word I could answer I wrote you into this song Only the seasons have shifted And still the seasons move on Spring at the edge of the pavement One green insistence through stone I watch it open toward morning It opens. I don't.