Now up leaves back to your trees, up now
and dock your stems to a branch, darken
this ground with shadow while you crown this
maple showing too much sky. Pull May
out of autumn, green from the spring of doubt.
It’s called The Lazarus Lift, this trick. All its
lightness relies on shuttered eyes, less light
traveling through pupils, through revealing
this world is not wrong-side up. Whirl this
inside us: what’s vital is not what slides in
After, but Now, floating on its life raft.
David Hernandez’s most recent collection of poetry is Dear, Sincerely (University of Pittsburgh Press, 2016). His other books include Hoodwinked, winner of the Kathryn A. Morton Prize in Poetry, Always Danger, winner of the Crab Orchard Series, and A House Waiting for Music. David has been awarded an NEA Literature Fellowship and two Pushcart Prizes. David teaches creative writing at California State University, Long Beach and is married to writer Lisa Glatt.