If It Were Spring

If it were Spring and I killed a man
I would change him to leaves
And hang him from a tree

A tree in a grove at the edge of a dune
Where small beasts came to flee the sun

Wind would make him part of song
And rain would cling
Like tiny crystal worlds

Upon his branch of leaf-green skies
And he would bear the dance of fragile bone

Brush of wings against his maps of arteries
And turn up a yellow-stomached flag
To herald the touring storm

O my victim, ou would grow your season
As I grew mine, under the spell of growth
An instrument of the blue sky
An instrument of the sun
A palm above the dark, splendid eyes

What language the city will hear
Because of your death, anguish explain
Sorrow relieve

Everywhere I see the world waiting you
The pens raised, walls prepared
Hands hung above the strings and keys

And come Autumn i will spin a net
Between your height and earth
To hold your crisp parts

In the fields and orchards
It must be turning Spring, look at the faces
Clustered around mine

And I hear
The irrefutable argument of hunger
Whispered, spoken, shouted, but never sung
I will kill a man this week
Before this week is gone
I will hang him to a tree
I will see this mercy done