Spring Song

Now there’s a yes! that cracks
the window’s winter-sealed lips.
                           Brave again, sun arouses the dust
and whatever's been stuck inside –
oh let it breathe.

Campions, trumpeting daffs,
cheering on a raw-boned dawn
over this tramped-down earth.
                           Rain soured by the cities
that sprang from our hands.
                           Air sick with lies.

Sick of us.

So I'm sat on a bench,
with a long blue note.
                           A healer of sorts,
it lets things pass through,
deepening in waves under the light.
                           Because spring is just too green.

A girl still, she’s playing –
and claims the blackbird.
                           His bill like a flower,
                           his bubbling jazz -
calling lambs to dance the goat-dance.

Posted: Mon 11 Aug, 2014