They take possession of the wet spring
with their arresting fragrance,
above the rock blue sky so startling
in May’s chilly air. Swimming
against the current, they lift their heads
to own the world. I stand still
at the threshold and open my arms.
Let me take no other nourishment
but sweet. Let me, like Persephone, drink
in this lovely day, and make me stay.
Published in Cider Press Review, Volume 15, Issue 2.