by KB Ballentine
Veins of Lenten roses echo dragonfly wings,
daffodils patches of sunlight—a promise
of Spring, though tomorrow both may bow
their heads to ice or showers.
Steel drums and maracas surge
from a passing car, splash the air,
and I can almost taste the sea.
But not yet.
Roots grip the warming soil,
leaf and petal breathing wind.
Today I lean toward the sun, light lapping
my skin, shadows sinking behind.