Nap if you will
in this perfect spring
dormancy awakened
just before summer
breathes its dragon fervor
casting a sunburnt crust
over this new, vibrant beauty
this hint of a quasi-promise
weaving a fine thread of solace
all gone too soon
Apollo draws his
golden chariot
fueling in turn
both poetry and plague
past where the sorrow kids speak
past where the muted hearts weep
Spring’s herald song
vast glory in color
fading out
before the fire winds
parch the dull earth
cutting the soil into bits
like overbaked brownies
Bringing us out of charmed wonder
our fleeting lullaby
to greet that
mammoth sun
spinning solar fire
axis swirling like mad desire.
