The coming of spring

These rainy breezes which come like

Squall-driven seabirds, bearing a scent of hyacinth.

 

The eye bending towards the cold mainland

The heave of hill, the grassy banks

Rain-soaked, softened to blur,

Making the landscape look younger

In the rain-filled lens of your eye.

 

You step quietly, gingerly, like

One bearing lilies, pomegranates

Underfoot, the apple tree

Bending to your music;

Like it’s a visible act,

Like you’re a bride who whispers

‘Ah, Paradise’, playing for time,

A button horse stitched to your bodice

Rearing up, mane like a crested wave.

 

All eyes obscure, obscure eyes.

Our lord a spectacled lord,

Peering and squinnying,

Spring in his hand, sunlight

Spilling through his fingers, violets

In his hair.

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