Last autumn's fields bonfired: old feeds new. Sheave-people plow
stripes of dark chocolate. Each day an egg hunt in the nests--
baskets of freckled brown, pond green, cornflower blue, cream
whites like the cased worms that still blanket some branches.
Lolloping hares parade pussywillow-soft coats, fuzzed lamblings
sneeze at feathered breezes, bees fuss their skeps, mothers
argue their milking--Tulips still labor to birth centimeter at a time.
Boys roll stones to wall-building fathers sisters tie banners, ribbons
to trees. Wind moves, hushing all, speaks to every ear the word
Odin once whispered: "Rebirth."
(Poem originally appeared at Poppy Road Review.)