Spring can swerve.
White patches,
holdouts from yesterday's snow,
are melted by today's rains.
Buds no sooner form
than are encased in ice.
No self-respecting Summer
day could bring snow.
Winter won't hatch
a butterfly.
Autumn can't turn
a red leaf back to green.
But Spring can swerve.
Spring glade:
small patch of light blue nests
in a yellow sea.
I once sped through an ancient land
that blurred of gray and green.
Its pastures had been neatly grazed
by some livestock, unseen.
Its mountains rugged, under clouds
whose drift could not be seen.
It felt like a long-lost painting
or unremembered dream.
seedpod rattle
is silenced by ice crust
on Winter branches.
tufts of grass poke
through a dusting of snow;
tomorrow -- mud!
stony fortress,
moated: turtle stretches neck
out to sniff the air.
Tiger Riding for Beginners 