The Weather House
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And Again

Praise these May moments

when trees dress delicately,

green as peridot.

I'll be the arbour

hung with cherry blossom,

nectar for your bees.

You shall be the spine

that supports this ecstasy;

sweet is the stamen.

My lust is for growth

run riot in every peak,

most of all yours.

Stepping out to me

over the blush of petals

I pluck you again

and again.

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Bring flowers on this winter night

where all the garden sleeps

                                beneath its leaves

I ache for the sweet of petal...