The Poem’s Lack of Faith in Its Own Terms

Doubt and fright and how it is
Are why you need the sun’s light

Like a kind of faith, not true,
Not faith in the face of facts,

Just a half faith in the fact
Of this light, its warmth, the scent

Noon draws off dead grass and dirt
By the side of a thin road

Used to get from town to pond.
How like you to drive up hill

To try to get close to us.
We’ll wait. Spring drives up slopes, too.