[Poem]
After winter’s ragged grin, spring comes greening in
with leaf-curling smiles of hope for new beginnings:
delirious-wild-flowerings in the serious month of May
and, in spite of Eliot’s cruelest month, crocus and Iris
and lilac and clematis, jonquils and tulips all
rise up from their sleep in the perfumed poetry of April
fading then back into oblivion never to be retrieved
again until next year, when the cycle begins again
with redbud trees and nomophobia blooming against
the heart again. Honeysuckle vines and bridal wreath
streaking through the palms up through the arms
to the heart and lungs and brainstem of this organism
which is a small part of the vast organism of air
and water and leaf and cloud and dirt and stars
we sometimes call “this vast creation,” for lack of better
words or more elegant turns of phrase. The earth is all
before me as Wordsworth said long ago. So I cannot miss
my way, even if my only guide is a pale wandering cloud.
[/Poem]
Featured Photograph: Purple Clematis by Nancy Rodgers