Spring Poem II

She's caught me again,

as She does every year;

each time

like bumping into an old friend

on the street, I run into

a palest green tree,

or a softest pink flower;

and as I stand there,

slack-jawed with wonder,

I know from that first breeze-breath

of perfume, from that leaf-light lambent

caressing my eyes, that

She's running ahead of me

laughing--and I've fallen into

her new-born babe's trap

all over again, already

half a moon behind.

Christopher J. Cramer

April 3, 1981