catching rain
on my tongue —
scent of plum blossoms

in like a lion . . .
the buds
of a pussywillow

rush hour —
spring snow covers
the roadside memorial

first buds . . .
droplets too fine
for the wiper

spring sunshine
we look round a house
we can’t afford

spring equinox
the precise pitch
of a sparrow

suddenly spring
I read the ending
first

no one
to forgive
spring again

drifting cherry petals . . .
a window goes up
in the passing limousine

Easter egg hunt:
he brings back
horseapples