THURSDAY IN MARCH

Sunshine threads
us as dandelions appear
intoxicated by the new season
on the high fields
over the grassland golf course
at my daily walk
down blue hills
carrying my notebook
and archive diary
with a Rouault clown cover
in a border of remembrance
observing the clouds departure
as morning birds bend down
over branches of birches
wishing my patch of earth
heeding a new embroidered spring
to console and absorb us
hearing the waves off the Cape
splashed by new rain at waterfalls
in the distance to be destined
to stay alive as a wordsmith
as flower petals may be awaking
erasing our light lost insomnia
on edge at our loneliness
waiting for nature to disguised itself
with quivering ripened oranges
curled and tangled on a tree
bordered by tiny squirrels
near a reunion of leaves,twigs
and witnessing woodland ferns
taking my oars in my hands
on my anchored kayak
by the house iron fence
to my germinating singular voice
guided by blushing rose bushes
under the first wounding light.