To a Vulnerable Bookworm in Spring

Just look out the window.
Your world is turning green,
Feasting on Easter's light
With fresh, wet appetite
To be and to eat Her,
The dawn of abundance,

Of hunger and abundance,
Of life. Perched at your window
You may feel shut off from Her,
Amused and immune, or green
With envy, your appetite
For eating what eats the light

Still quiet and your bones still light.
You have your own abundance
Of wintry notions. Appetite
Lies past that double-paned window.
In time, you'll eat what eats the green
That eats the gleam that shines off Her,

But you're withholding. You don't want Her.
You have your bookish wisdom to light
Your nights of colorless green
Ideas dreaming sleepless abundance.
You try not to look out the window
And turn to work with no appetite

For that moveable feast of appetite
Celebrating outside. You resent Her
A little when you open the window
Just a crack. She is the goddess of light
And desire, and you crave the abundance
That makes your craving possible, but that green

Bursting into leaf out there is the same green
Of death and decay, sickening appetite.
The surplus of life means death in abundance.
Again and again, you pick quarrels with Her,
Asking why there's no other way to use light
Than that glorious war outside your
window

Waged by all those ravenous green offspring of Her
Tangled banks of appetite. But you too love light,
And abundance, and lean out the open window.