Impossible Orange

It is the fourth time I have seen
the magnolias burst and fall.

Those of us here mark the time
in trees, not years.
First, the leaves smoulder gently,
then in one afternoon
it happens, everywhere
impossible orange lit from behind
lights us on.

As we go,
branches sigh under whiteness,
glaciers avalanche
off the chapel roof.
Heads turn in that direction.

It is warming.

And here we are again,
shadowed under thick magnolias,
slipping on the petal-flung
flagstones as though
it were ice again.

But these seasons are not the same.
No matter how little we feel it,
our bones grow.

Sitting on the club patio
my friends and I,
come from everywhere
to be here together, here,
in New Jersey,
where God goes
or went.

Tipping our afternoon back with beer,
from far down the street
we could hear distant music.

Two squirrels
demonstrated what spring means
for our amusement.
Already, this is more dream
than memory,
this place of overheard confessions
in early courtyards
(some might say we know each other
too well here-that's as true
as breathing,
when we bother to breathe).

The thing about us,
we keep listening
when the sun comes through
the windows in McCosh 50.

We have ridiculous arguments
in the pages of the Daily,
but we have arguments,
and we are not ridiculous.
When we wake up,
someone else is going to sleep.
When we want a shower
someone is already in it.

There are songs we pretend
not to know, gates we
say we're not afraid of.

We have proclaimed our differences
from the office
of an ousted president.
We have stayed in our
rooms and played SEGA.

We have danced with gardenias
on wrists and black jackets.
We have been beautiful, beloved,
humiliated, exhausted,
and we have found our way home,
somehow. We have refrained, and we
have passed
the bong around.

There were times we almost
went blind with all of it,
eyes strained, unwashed,
reading as we walked.

There is no name for the place
where we were young, and learned
things. How can I lay claim
to so many living years clinging,
to a shield of tulips,
to arches that never expected me?

Four times, I saw
the magnolias burst and fall,
and now they are falling on me.