Counting down

Everyone should write a spring poem, Louise Gluck

Perpetually repeating spring
in the azaleas on my street,
lush parade of parables
I can’t decipher yet,
configuring, configuring—

Why are you given to me
this black morning, the little hearses
lining my soul already parked,
ready for ascent or explosion
depending on my grip
on this blossoming,
my  unasked-for gift?