The Universe breathes languidly
in and out
the green sigh of photosynthesis.
Drowsy flowers stretch their petals sunward,
the morning yearns for noon — straight up.
Our star blazes life down upon us.
We are whole in this moment.
I am bending time, of course.
And space, too.
Poets are notorious liars — and thieves.
Don’t leave your brilliant smiles around
for us to craft like ironsmiths
at their glowering anvils.
Don’t send us that look
or we’ll capture it for eons
And we’ll hold you to that moment
expecting you to deliver the goods again, mister,
as long as it’s of our choosing.
It’s about time you made it back,
been dreary here,
saying the least:
I’ve felt like wretched Persephone,
trapped by that old flame-out Hades
(for six pomegranate pips?! —
for the gods’ sake — a girl’s gotta eat!)
six months’ (longer) darkness,
and now (it seems ages)
you’ve pushed through the shades
and thawed my heart —
not to mention the rest of me —
Where was I?
Ah, yes. Extolling Spring.