THE SPRING
One thought drops across the hillside.
Its facets shine along cold furrows,
breaking into consciousness,
slide down
deliberate as rain
into pipes a hollow silver
into troughs
their green arms open
into ruts full up with a brown laughter
into old weeds
a joyous handshaking
after young ducks
chuckling even as bridesmaids
their white wings floating
through each puddle
and every pool
the pale color pouring
across the threshold.
© Val Morehouse, version: May 2000.
All Rights reserved.