In Spring

No orbital saturation
like the lime baby grasses
of springtime. Bath
of color, and all ballast
sinks to the bottom
of those tender shoots.

Tender like us,
though I’m not sure why
we spend so much energy
pretending we are not.

Let’s push up through
this fertile dark, exposed,
and let the long winter
deliver our bodies
to the raw green courage
of a fragile and glorious bloom.

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Sushi Tuesday

Lemon sliver
clay dish
cutting board
raw fish
old friends
new lives
years passed
sharp knives
sea weed
thin slice
apple blossom
season rice
birth day
spring time
berry fingers
laugh line
new start
hide seek
make plans
next week
home made
dark sky
I’ll wash
you dry.

Morning Porch

Springtime opens
on the morning porch.
The woodpecker rat-a-tats

on cottonwood as we talk
about evolution. This bird, you say,
watched too many feathered peers

die on the dirt
eating worms, so he took
to the trees,

where he rapped his beak
against brown bark
until he found

the first sweet bug.
And in the sunshine,
we are evolving too –

from something that was
into something that is.
I am startled

by how easy it feels
to fly away
from familiar ground,

into the green branches
with you,
your feet folded

like wings in my lap,
the morning smell of coffee
and unbrushed hair.

“When the Lover of Spring Betrays Me”

A collaborative text poem:  My good and lovely friend Melanie texted me today with this title.  She requested a poem to reflect the, ahem, general sentiment of the May weather we have been having.  The below was the resultant poem-in-text…

***

Our coats – they do not work
anymore, for our eager
blood has thinned
with springtime.

Like a cold joke, I am
scraping the window
to the tittering
of birdsong.

No sun, no warm shelter,
no splash of flower
nor scent of wet dark earth,
no walk with friend

or lover.
Fuck you, snowflake, I say.
And the car door
slams.