In Spring

When the morning makes itself pink

and sometimes orange

and the clouds wear dark blue

and the rain stops for a moment,

the clean chill in the air

finds her bones

and calls them to love even the coyotes

who ate the deer

even the deer who ate her Magnolia

even the dead mouse in her cellar,

for Spring mornings renew the world

renew her body.

She says

 I think I could run and live forever

if it were always Spring.

©poem and photo caf