I walk among effulgent flowers
of May reds and violets, and
an anxious black bird
flees my track on rushing wings.
This gush of rough sound across my ears
joins the ticks of bicycle gears
and whirrs of a distant mower,
as songbirds pipe and whistle.
Atop an arbor, another eyes me,
large and taciturn, his sable beak turning,
his wings of flint folded,
and then is gone.
Small blue flowers hug cool shade,
remembering the skies and sounds of spring.
(May 23–24, 2017)