Beneath the Spring Rain

Shape-shifting sky crawls on all fours,
with light shimmering through its ash-colored veins,
and millions of eyelids blink
at the steel needles of spring,
knitting the green much the same
as the years pass.

A brazen bandaid for worm-eaten wounds,
ivy wraps around hopeless stumps.
Fertile for larkspur, lilacs, or roses,
dark soil revealed by spade and hoe,
drinks the tonic wrought from clouds,
with celebratory thirst.

Twisting in her hands her keys to rebirth,
confident in her way through crusted earth,
her stronghold on life measured in buckets,
nature saunters in an ankle-length dress
in order to reimburse
for winter.

Through the banging of shutters,
animated in a storm's symphony,
rain, in tempo with the wind instruments,
splashes in question marks on the slippery street,
while she laments frizzled hair,
instead of frizzled dreams.