Vernal Equinox

After “Insect Waking” day, sleepers rise.

Rain, and seedlings break through earth.

The floor’s cool damp kisses my soles,

whispering love’s illusions.

The vernal equinox is a tender knife

splitting us in two:

half abides in reason

half is lost in haze.

A man passes,

the rustle of his clothing

flickering my bones.

A little sun, a little rain

a little kindness, a little gloom.

Afraid I might catch cold.

In from the ocean, fog fills the city streets.

Best not extend my arm

where a touch would burn my handprint

on the mist. The scent of unseen flowers

drifts in purples, blues.

To myself I speak, and no one else.

Soon cicadas’ thready buzz

will call up dry and vivid day.

But so long as mist rules earth

this female ardor

is my homage to the spring.