2 Kan
Yellow Lunar Seed
There is a Time of Year lies yawning---
Stretching the Space between Seasons
Days---Weeks of Promise when,
depending on the Solstice
We stand between cold Dread and warm
Anticipation---
There is a Time of Year that takes
the plant Roots deep---
Makes its Moves from inner Signals
Cosmic Calls of ice-filled Lakes---
Frost---Cold---Wind---Snow and Rain---
Skies
of November resemble a Day in March
When Clouds give no Comfort or
Promise of Warmth
Finally, winter loses Strength---
A Seed begins its brave invisible
Ascent to early Suns too pale for warming---
Only Faith supports our Skin and
Bones
Now chilled and blue with Longing
For spring the winter’s Damage to
atone---
That Time of Year lay shivering
While we, like Children,
short-sighted
And burning with Desire cannot wait
For howling, whistling Winds
To blow away the old and bring upon
the New---
Autumnal Days of early spring are
rude---
They tease and taunt without Remorse
That Time of Year too short to name
until---
Azure fills a Sky of cotton Clouds---
Jonquil Petals open with the Violet---
Green Grass quivers with the Flights
of little Bees
Whose Legs are yellow Pollen laden---
Daffodil sits up with Hyacinth upon
the Hill
The Moth awakes to fly on parchment
Wing---
The Seasons turn---Gaia smiles---naming
Spring.
©Kleomichele Leeds
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