Lure of Spring

Spring rain Flings like seeds at my window In the dawn, Awakening Auburn horses neighing from the barn While Gold Finches are scarred lemons Half-ripe Filling a bush, Singing Release me Leaves of trees budding Clenched baby fists holding away the cold Lime glow Its own light mint A man walks with pail and pole to the river For the little fish that shiver In the last splashes of silver coins Casting a lure of first light.