Spring II

In early Spring

I walk before the rain comes,

feeling its soft approach

like lovers' sighs at the ear,

the breath inhaling you.

I bare my feet for the firs time

after the warm wet winter.

The stones stick my tender sole,

the pain shocking me into a queen's posture,

elegant as anything.

Lilac fills the air with plum-ripe sweet.

Blackberry's early rosy stars

drip plump and pink in the misty drench.

Green unthorned hoops bower the abandoned walkway.

Everything promises, nothing warns.

Before the next shower I know

the sudden darkening of woods, a stormy swirl.

Like first snowflakes,

pale blooms spiral single down

from high chestnut trees.

Fallen white blossoms

edge a path

shadowed now,

past your house

where I lived once.