i am april's fool

april is the best month for birthing poetry, and i've been expecting it all march, which explains my absence.  today i am the empty cup, the flight of uncarpeted stairs, and do i ever know what i know.  so edna st. vincent millay just rescued me with this perfection; may she rescue you:

Spring

To what purpose, April, do you return again?
Beauty is not enough.
You can no longer quiet me with the redness
Of little leaves opening stickily.
I know what I know.
The sun is hot on my neck as I observe
The spikes of the crocus.
The smell of the earth is good.
It is apparent that there is no death.
But what does that signify?
Not only under ground are the brains of men
Eaten by maggots.
Life in itself
Is nothing,
An empty cup, a flight of uncarpeted stairs.
It is not enough that yearly, down the hill,
April
Comes like an idiot, babbling and strewing flowers.

-Edna St. Vincent Millay