Through the Windows of Spring

Athens, Georgia
April 14, 2018

When nights drift through open windows 

and you wake to mornings enveloped in green, 

the world is a nursery with you again 

the grass-stained boy hopping rocks 

by a slow creek that winds through 

the idylls of childhood. Or the lithe girl 

in scruffy jeans clutching a rough trunk 

halfway up the side yard plum 

which thrives on the edge of an unruly lawn. 

The aroma of onion grass spikes the air 

as you weave a bouquet of dandelions 

and skip to a medley of mockingbird tunes.

You wander once more through living woods 

where tangles of jessamine hang from the trees 

and armies of iris encircle the ponds.

You gaze in wonder at street-side weeds 

where scattered arcs of Dove’s-foot flowers 

make lavender galaxies tangled in green. 

And you rest again on a carpet of clover 

woven with tendrils of purple vetch 

in the spell of a flowering dogwood. 

You are the boy now covered in mud, 

the girl with a jessamine necklace. 

You slip through the windows of spring.