Bloom Endgame

 

Every spring it starts,
Buds aching to open,
Leaves and flowers othering
This world of shadow and light
Into their whole selves, so moved
By color, I feel my spirit expand, conflate,
Like a kite in wind, hot-air balloon
High on helium, dying Keats
Ever doting on prosy Fanny,
Fleshed into day- and -nightbright
Spiritstar ad astra, filled to fullness
As we all wish at the end,
When, and if, bloom begins again.

 

GTimothy Gordon

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