[By any measure . . .]

By any measure, it was endless winter. Emulsions with Then circled the lake like This is it. This April will be Inadequate sensitivity to green. I rose early, erased for an hour Silk-brush and ax I'd like to think I'm a different person latent image fading around the edges and ears Overall a tighter face now. Is it so hard for you to understand From the drop-down menu In a cluster of eight poems, I selected sleep, but could not I decided to change everything Composed entirely of stills or fade into the trees but could not remember the dream save for one brief shot of a woman opening her eyes Ari, pick up. I'm a different person In a perfect world, this would be April, or an associated concept Green to the touch several feet away