I don’t remember the name
of the small purple flowers
that rise through the golden dirt.
On this first day of spring
they play hide and I seek
and they slip me a glimpse
of what might come,
like a man who holds a woman’s
gaze for just a moment
(and another moment)
too long.
Oh, the sweet tease of spring,
the keen inexplicable yes
of it, ahh, how sweetly
(how sharply)
it torments me,
though there
is no uncertainty
it will follow through
with its promises,
mmm hmmm,
eventually.