A wild early April strangeness,
crazier than any autumn evening,
mild air full of flooding wind,
motions of storming branches,
a queer, creaky, crying sound
way off, as the rain advances—
What’s that? a thud of thunder?
a big tree going down?
the sound of the untime after?
No, only the hour of the changes,
uncanny, oceanic,
smelling of hyacinth, ozone, daphne.