END SPRING  


︎︎︎ Lamb

︎ Feb 5, 2026

In secret you stand
at the reservoir’s edge,
its cold told by the bluer
green. Maybe you shiver,
self distract with the egret’s
ready neck, trout rising
like small academics,
oblong rocks, thoughts
of money … till you clock
desire in them all and
end up right back asking.

Is this really what I wanted?
Is this what I really wanted?


















Lamb is an American poet.

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