The wind is neither bold, nor demure
as it moves across the first days of May,
after storms have ripped savagely and
the first Spring tulip-blooms fade away.
It is Spring, he whispers, pulling on me
to follow him scrambling up the steep path,
where under the budding walnut tree
the great swells of ground cover its roots.
Noses cold, we huddle close together,
our breath mingling with the pollen dust
that alights the winds of forever
with its promise of transcendent hours.
Were we here until tomorrow’s day break,
or for as long as the first leaf’s show takes.
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