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
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