Spring is cutting her milk teeth
dipping a proverbial toe
into the waters of sunshine
intermittent showers

easily lost, she’s continually turning
the map to orient herself
left from right, up from sideways

Spring confuses “up the street”
and “down the street” as if
these were not interchangeable
approximations of continuation

Spring leaves the path
because cherry blossoms are fleeting
bulbs are an event

Spring is a little unsure 
where the crocuses fit in
after Winter’s silent 
ice stark branches

Spring clears her throat, 
relearning the birdsong
trill of her voice