Spring is blooming, it’s the season to fall in love
scented, blossoming canopies
jacaranda flowers pale indigo
cherry blossoms pink and white
blushing wisteria
orange and lemon perfume the air
even cactus bloom in the desert
though from the window we see only needles
or trees cordoned off with yellow tape
or a corridor bereft of annuals.
Symbols of renewal and rebirth
just out of reach
held for another day
but that other day will be too late
and when we emerge
we will have missed the Spring.
In order to love again
we must stay home
picnic on the floor
or the roof
perhaps with the ones staying close
perhaps alone
imagining fields and meadows ablaze with color
calling to mind sweet fragrance
the memory of delicate blossoms
we offered to our paramour to inhale
gentling in the chalice of cupped hands
we feared to close
so not a single petal would bruise.
There is no greater gift
than wandering without purpose
amidst the loose sense of Sunday
camera in one hand
a lover’s hand in the other
the shared scent of new love’s promise
in the riotous bloom of spring.