If Spring sprang too soon,

Could we…

Would he allow me

To turn him back?

Wind his flowers down

Into their coil.

He would resist?

What if I used

My gentlest touch,

My maternal, hugging hand

And cradled them in the kind of love

That I haven’t felt in years?

What if then,

I turned him like a key,

Locking though?

To sit upon a favorite bench

And think of all the times

Its cold-and-slowly-warming touch

Brought comfort to my mind

Is such a gift that only comes

From fewer things than I have known

To stick around in cities’ parks:

The transient and turning over “home”.

I felt it once, or maybe twice

When sitting under bark.

My friends were talking round my head

And a stillness struck my heart.

Standing tall and reaching out,

My fingers fought the space

Which lingers there among the thoughts.

You should have seen my face.

For if you would not think me mad,

You’d be among the lesser few;

The friends and feelings all accrued,

I watched them just fade from view.