Not Yet Spring

It is not yet Spring, 
When I can call my curated vines
Of violet and lemon meaning
Out of the ground
From winter's writhing roots;
That press against the edges of my mind 
And curl back around
In want of surety,
Sun-blessings,
The curiosity of others.

It is not yet Spring- 
The unravelling of the tangible
Into Time, 
That doesn't go back again 
Into the dark -
It dances on your lips,
Dips into hedgerows
In pastel colours 
Sense-making, 
Breathing purple.

It is not yet Spring -
When I can watch
What I already know
Like a kite,
Tipping its head 
At its tail,
Streamer roots
Tasting the sky.

Not yet. 


LJ Ireton 2024


 


Comments

Popular posts from this blog

This morning I saw seagulls

Under the Sun

Fierce in the sky