It's not that April produces
great poems. It doesn't.
Instead, we celebrate the idea
of a month for poetry:
for setting aside
(if only for moments a day)
the perspective
from which we view our worlds.
We cock our heads
at a slightly different angle
and sniff the air for words
that speak in unfamiliar accents.
We listen for the snatch of music,
the melodies we use
to choreograph our days.
The poetry is always there;
April is when we taste it.
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