You Can't Get There From Here

Some things can’t turn
Over a new leaf.
Some things can’t call

Time-out in overtime,
When the vicious animals
Overrun the court.

Some things can’t tell
When night dampens their shoes,
And some can’t make

Light of the obvious,
The death that sits cross-legged
On the tombstones having

Tea and crumpets,
With rumpled fingers.
Some things can’t be

Explained by the visible
Outline of summer
Just beyond the horizon.

They wait for the parliament
Of seasons to vote in
Their manifest rights

And make applesauce
Of their oranges
And drooping-hipped pears.