Monday, 19 March 2012

A Spring In The Step

within a yawning rise he marches,
my long black twin, in the vicinity of a vernal sun
behind, beside and up front
as I wander through an aria electric with sex
where the happily played beg
“can we nest in your beard, as the trees are still bare?”
and my umbral brother offers all free lodging
and they chirrup and chide till I bid them
show patience for today the air is gorged
with expectancy and every bud seems to drip
of the latest vintage delicacy
so I whistle the branches and they shiver
and stoop and collect their dropped vestments
while offering green shoots
which declare “open for new residents”

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