Preparations
That day
when spring is come
and birds blow song,
when wind is blue
and sun stirs up
thrashing about till cold be gone
and buds peek forward
from the
womb of the tree
raising their heads like flowers to the air,
while black flies buzz black with
the quick lust of the bee
and butterflies
flair
with their certain, butterfly flair
and ants spin hotly
out their cave-doors in the ground
searching new food
and dragonflies wake soft,
wee in the silence of the morn
beyond the winter-death of sound,
that day, I’ll prance to you
out the early light
and we’ll make our bed
until it is night.
