Primavera Comes
Primavera Comes
Lightly she descends--
her feet move toward us,
over the crest of the Vermont hills.
In her footsteps
spring vernal pools;
in her hair are golden
willow twigs,
tangled goldfinches
with black-barred wings
fluttering.
As she passes,
her breath breathes early violets
and crushed grass, mixed
with notes of woodsmoke and diesel.
She skirts the dusty tractor
tilting down by the brook;
the hem of her garment trails
tin cans and gum wrappers.
At night the peepers sing her coming
in diminishing chorus
Harmonizing with a faint police siren
from the next valley.
Stars are her sprinkled diadem,
Milky Way flowing slow as time,
through black cutouts of trees;
outshown by streetlights.
Tattered, rain-blown, discouraged,
still she comes to us,
Arms scattering lilacs.
-- Peggy Brightman (c) 2016
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