Equinox
I’m perusing the aisles of a local retailer
as if strolling through the blossoming rows of a flower garden:

blouses of petal
shawls of leaf
daffodil dresses
and tulip skirts

so lovely, it hurts

earrings to wed the petal-pink
bangles and bracelets to chime
necklaces and floral scarves
to festoon the feminine form
and dangle from my rhyme
barrettes to kiss the firmament
and shoes to marry the clime

All this,
yet I walk away.

It finally strikes
like an iron spade in the brown earth:

The Spring I seek is loamy soil
clumping beneath my fingernails
as snails and worms and potato-bugs
wiggle to life the wonders of bloom.