April Fools

Framed by my window, the first of April
promises grace, pictured through glass
so clear that a robin crashes against it
fooled by the perfect transparency.

A squirrel walking an electric wire
above the pines that border my lawn
is blind to the force beneath its feet,
the blaze implied by the constant buszz.

I do not walk electric wires
or crash against transparent glass,
but I am fooled by blooming flowers,
my faith renewed by forms of grace.