Spring is an adolescent
green peach fuzz on the chins of
slowly waking trees
titillating the fresh air
spewing pollen promises

Hope bursts again
once doubted as if
this year would linger in solstice
eternal frost and southern skies
sun low on the horizon
barely yawning
and yet pre-pubescent tendrils
reach up towards warm breath
predictable, inevitable
dormancy into projected energy
movement sublime

like you

the one I always wanted
the won I was waiting for
a bud maturing in slow motion
into flower
into fruit.

© S. Rinderle, 2014
Published in Catching Calliope, Spring 2014.