by
Michael Blake
Tossing poems like grass seed to the new season
Like the pink magnolia profusion
Heralding the new budding warmth
Here for the moment and then scattered,
Shouting color and life to the slow thawing,
The all too brief celebration
(But there’s the power, too, the flare)
Of the flowing juices, the sudden desires,
The call to share, to let loose.
Flooded that dry and cracked terrain
That winter weary mental landscape
In need of this injection
The old skin shed,
The metamorphosis,
The poet letting his butterflies go
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