spring

Hymns of mauve hover
Beckoning from the branches
countering the collision of the crystalline cold
with every last push of magenta

children of the sun
birthed out of otherwise chemical fissures
gestated longer than we can guess
waiting for a latitudinal alignment

eyes on the equinox change
I savour freshness.
frightened birds lose their shackling terror
and sing, and maybe I too.

there is a moment, lingering around 5,
when only the dawn of evening’s nipping sore
totes in the light angles that let
purple leaves hymn rather than hiss.