It is spring again.
Why should the sunlight feel so sweet?
The trees hang their new leaves to dry.
At their feet, the grass shoots
Stab the bright air with row after row of perfect
Pointed blades, a phalanx from a green army.
The sun needles a crazed tattoo onto the
Sidewalk. Last year too
The azaleas were flowering. They
Are fading now, the blooms
Crushed on the driveway.