The Unwanted Spring

The weather crouches

and readies herself to leap

into the basin of warmth and rain.

She loosens the towel of winter

at her waist and lets it fall.

I wish I were a lifeguard.

I wish I could loose a shrill blast

from an orange whistle,

seize her wrist,

close the pool:

lock us on the cusp

of the last cold snap,

all because spring is coming

and all the days of it

will slip by

with you in your city

and I in mine.

My hand is empty.

How can I walk

through the garden

and show you

the fresh buds ready to burst?

the purple gillyflower,

the pink ranunculus,

the white lisianthus

with the tips of her petals

dipped in paint?

The bees like little doctors

have begun their rounds,

and today, a grasshopper

tanned his long legs

on the porch rail.

Pause the seasons

until you are here

and I can share these

little beauties of life

with you.

I don’t ask much.

Let weather only wait

until we are together again —

then she can dive,

then can spring wash us

in hot greenery,

in the blossom of the sun.

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