Is It Spring Yet?


Rainbow pours from gray heavens
into the heart of an earth washed clean.
Point of entry is unprovable
and the literal-minded mutter
of refraction, of light divided
into component frequencies.

I see a mist of dancing angels fill the air:
God’s messengers cup amethysts, rubies,
turquoise and amber in their hands.
On light wings they arc downward,
burying gems in the land they touch.

Through vast tracts of time
every point on earth has been sown.
Do not bother to dig.
Forcing its way,
even through concrete,
color rises new born.


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