They are still tight,
the buds on the chives.
They are wise not to open.
After a brief spring
it is winter again.
Days of white, nights of white,
thick snow and heavy sky.
Last week, when the birds
were singing, I opened.
I didn’t think of it then
as a vulnerable thing to do.
It seemed so dependable,
the sunshine of you.
I should have taken a hint
from the iris still folded
deep in their green envelopes.
Oh damn this lilac heart,
how it rushes to bloom.
The forecast is for winter all spring.
“It seemed so dependable,/the sunshine of you.//…The forecast is for winter all spring.” Oh, this life: If you’re enjoying the weather, wait ten minutes.
Very lovely, the lilacs are always the first to go around here too.