Spring
And here's the proud and playful cold
with a serious, careless and cowardly step
sift one last flight out the window
with the glitter of a recluse heart.
Spring shrugs her shoulders so gracefully
cheering the weird crackling grass
and the flower branches in paint
sipping the dew of our thin lives.
Her face is still decorated today
kissed again and again in the commotion
guilty at first
then the crepe sugar snowdrops
in the gaze with the sun as one.
…and I get the urge to color
"to sing to you, to adore you nature"
…stealthily, the illusion of my life in the weft!
