After a feast of several sunny days, a quenching rainy morning. No lights, no radio, just the tinking of the rain spout.
Tightly balled in a word-woven clot, working, source-citing through the night, waking with an urge to uncurl and grow wings.
The slumbering sun stirs under gray blankets, opens one eye on the watchful faces of leaves like hungry chicks, turns over and yawns.
The department store cologne-spraying ladiesgot nothin' on my neighborhood's spring blossoms.
All day white flurries fallon the sidewalk the slow meltof pear petals.
White blossoms sleeve the trees in the grovelike many-armed goddesses dancing in the breezetheir hennaed hands nestling chickadees.
The dark pulls over us tonight like a heavy woolen blanket, its striped white and amber fringe receding to the west.
A sopping gray granita has been slathered on the ground and sluices down the street, left overnight by drunken pixies too sloshed to toss any sparkling fairy dust.
Released from desktop, deadline, Steelcase, sweatshop... to playground: brown rice, asparagus, pea sprouts, pineapple, almonds, chutney and vinegar - sweet joy!
Stiff stars twitching in the stark wind, paper-dry reminders of last summer's blossoms that swaddled plump bees suckling within supple white petals.