When Spring Comes

Odilon Redon, The Muse on Pegasus

When spring comes

it rustles with wind-sighs
raking debris, lifting blood-red leaves,
sifting sand for life
beneath trees,
between stones,
yellow flowers bloom

following the sun, as we do, in expectation
of magic, a breath from the sky
to banish air thick with grey, to return
blue-winged, pink-tipped,
shedding golden feathers–

in that light almost-love
as it kisses the lingering ice, transforming itโ€”
and if the steel and concrete world devours,
still the birds sing in echoes of the stars,
recalling the once bright, now fallen,

while peace, a wandering vine, twines,
unnoticed but anticipated, like a secret
waiting to be revealed in the blush of chagrined dawn
after the charcoal clouds clear,
swept by cerulean
again.

My poem from the Magnetic Poetry Oracle. As always, she knows what’s going on.

25 thoughts on “When Spring Comes

  1. I particularly like these lines:

    to return
    blue-winged, pink-tipped,
    shedding golden feathersโ€“

    For some odd reason, I immediately saw myself returning blue-winged, and pink-tipped, shedding golden feathers.

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