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