Spring Carnival

Oh the feel of the vernal air!
April arrives like a carnival
Of living aromas and colors,
With parades of blossoms
Riding the sun-soaked breeze.
As we dive into the fertile green,
Their cool caress against our feet,
We hear daffodils laughing
Softly, like when breath tickles your ear.
Wish you were here.

Time-Out

While we spoke of our losses,
of jealousy, hate, of troubles,
you looked out the open window—
as if to force a time-out
from our timeless squabbles—
to watch the rain-soaked boughs
heavy with kiwi blossoms.
But I was watching your face,
glowing against the hot rain,
your tear-filled eyes seeking
some cool hush beneath the bolts,
some dry patch in the flood of pain.

You Said

You said
Wish you
Were dead

Your mouth had opened and the words fell out 
Your tongue the launchpad of guided missiles
Your lips the gates of your inner prison

Each one feeding the same shy blossom 
of suffering, reopening the same wound in me
with their alphabetical poison, sinking like ear drops.

It was much later, at five o'clock in the evening,
sitting on my fast rocker, pouring wine, enough
to wash the brain, immerse and suffocate it....

That I recalled you never said nothing to me
except with your eyes and left corner of your lips
that raised enough to let out a sigh full of dead words.

Mold

Mold on the lime to 
the moribund butterfly:
Blossoming snowflake.