#Spring

Bees labor not in vain
For their task is plain.
Listen - how they hum
Around the myoporum.
Purple buds then show forth
Declaring their handiwork.

Coming from within a rising hedge
  Of voluptuous white oleander –
I sensed a turmoil; one writhe
  Seduced better than before

And within the naked boughs
  Of some palo verde – in a rustle
Of few leaves – I thought I saw
  Among them a potential

So quick and sullen, I almost not
  Deemed it worthy a mention
Until a lone grackle squawked
  That vernal suspicion

Then the wind flirted with a sage
  Whose mane shimmied – fervid –
As if the breath of Earth had encouraged
  Spring to dance for him.

Like a sparkling Roman candle –
  Red beardtongue dots the canyon.
Oh, what handsome bugles!
  That decorate the trail along

Where pebbles were brushed aside
  And sway with the breeze –
Not to elicit surprise
  But to befriend the greenery.

Bless each palo verde bloom –
  Those cuplets kissed by the sun
My vision wants to consume
  That thus have raptured my love.

See how they speckle the tree
  With a burst of yellow bright
And upon the branches flit
  By the wind that blows nigh –

Leading me not to consider
  The force behind nor why
But to admire how they arch
  In reverence to the sky.

Gentle Earth, I beg of you –
Whisper to us the first sign of spring.
Annul this wintry despair
And a season of life anew, bring.
From the depths of Baja
Carry the warmth in upon a draft.
Poke the sunshine through grumbly clouds
And send it down as a gilded shaft.
Clothe the desert with the raiment
Of fleeting sheets of white rain.
Implore the wildflowers that they
Bestow upon us a fantastic display.
Help the button-face of the brittlebush
Peep over the dead, crumpled brush.

Spring days like these
Were made for katie ruellia –
Who is royalty among flowers –
Robed delicately in purple.
She's arrived at the festivities –
The trumpeters blow a sennet.
Her crown is the leaves;
The butterflies – her subjects.

It was hefted upon a breeze -
  As in a warm, flowing current
Through a sea of palo verdes -
  To search for an embankment.

That seed of promise -
  An implicit aster -
Was sent to broken gneiss
  To become one with nature -

A golden bloom to come
  To an expectant glen -
Not knowing how it found home
  Except that it did.

Under a sky of celadon –
  I watched bees huddle
In frenzied expectation
  Of riding a flaxen petal.

Lupine and globe mallow
  Danced about while sage
Waved at me from below -
  Comprising my entourage.

I saw pale butterflies mingle
  Within dewy creosotes
Then came an argent gale
  Which tugged at their cloaks

And then - the drape shifted
  But my vision proves true -
A celadon echo gifted
  To me that sunny interlude.

Color my small world -
  Oh, fair Yeshua -
With a streak of globe mallow
  Inside a rocky draw

And the morning calm
  Of bergamot and lupine -
So I can stop time
  And set my gaze upon them -

And a swath of poppies
  Glowing in the sun
And a glint in the breeze
  As if to show Your love.

I'll go and walk about
  The garden variety -
Knowing that this niche
  Is where I want to be.

Come, graceful brittlebush
  And creamy globe mallow blooms.
The winds of spring call you
  Again from the sandy tombs.

Come, you dashing lupine
  And join the wingnuts on the hills.
Go and place your annual stake
  With them near the trails.

There is room, woolly daisies
  And Engelmann's cacti, on the plain.
Come dressed in your best trimmings.
  You are favored by the sun.

I will swing by and count you
  Among my treasured finds.
Fill my life with flowers
  So I know that I'm alive.