Spring

New. All new. Leaf, bud, shoot,
Trillium closed like candles,
Sizzled sideways until three flames
Arched from the center
Atop three broad leaves;
A stem floats this symmetry,
Like fingertips holding a
Champagne glass
(The Marie Antoinette’s Breast Kind).
New, the resurrected dance, bubble, gurgle
Of our little creek.
Attus’ warm breath
Lifting the hem of my dress
And tangling my hair.
New as every morning,
But especially in Spring.
The blossoming trees show up
Wearing wild bonnets,
New, with the fragrance
Of promised fruit.