Each year I remember less
And am therefore more surprised.
Was the earth this black
Were the hues of the budding trees
So many shades of green?
And the birds, everywhere.
Could I parse their calls as now?
Was I always so dazzled
By blossoms of cherry and pear?
Did daffodils fanfare like this
Trumpeting their colors vibrantly, violently?
The smell of warm rain
Pollen stinging my eyes
And the sneezing
Were you always so wonderful
Fruitful, fecund, fertile?
Open my eyes to see
My soul to believe.
Imprint you, April.
Imprint you in my memory
And on my soul.
© 2012 Forrest A. Hainline III
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