By Les Von Losberg
spring in the quiet that precedes
the riot ready to break out just outside
my office window: the red maple
hums with buds, the crab apple
tentative of leaves; birds whistle,
twitter and caw a John Cage symphony;
tree limbs never so sumi-e speak in
ever-smaller tongues their own reaching
language, scrawling it into the warming
air. not just in the eye, but in the heart,
an at-odds greening.
I reach to find the window glass still cold.
Nothing speaks to me here inside but
numbers, dwindling with each breath.
Les Von Losberg has been a poet, writer, songwriter and conceptual artist for nearly 40 years, with an abiding interest in psychoanalysis. The central tenet of his artwork is that we see the world through language. Les makes his living as an estate, business insurance and retirement planner.