In this day of Spring gone cold
leaves rattle on the limbs,
Birds fluff their feathers
and sing a muted tune.
This is April turning May.
Mother Nature seems to be saying,
Stop labeling me!
There are no compartments
to contain me, not even
on calendar pages
.  In a monologue
without fences she blows cold breath.
The meadow waits for June,
Bees wait for flowers,
Cities turn on the neon.
Fake mystics practice levitation
without success
while poets purse their lips,
                 and write the sun.