April

The absence that has wintered here
sheds its woolen coat.
And here in the hollow of its shoulder,
spring pins a bouquet of dandelion
and sun. 

I lean in
to smell the top notes of cut grass
and joy.

I run my fingers down spring’s arms
where hopeful buds preen and pink,
eager to open.

I place my palm upon its heart
and feel the wings of thrush and finch
thrum expectantly.

Oh, lie with me in fields of violets,
our purple mouths drinking in
this day!