please, spring

by Diane Stone

It’s one of those perfect days: 

a thick slice of paradise 

swaying on light’s full bloom. 

Our senses need 

fair warning signs 

on days like these. 

Slow: Fireweed in bloom. 

Caution: Warblers ahead. 

Something sketched the details right 

(turning leaves, hollow bones), 

but overplayed the major theme—

who really wants to ever leave? 

This denim sky, benignly blue, 

bravely wide, hides the murky stew 

of our beginnings. 

How far we’ve come, 

from random belch to this: 

colors bursting glad intent;

more seed, please, one more chance. 

We all want that—one more chance

to bloom again, to make amends, to fly;

one more chance to live as if it mattered. 

Diane Stone, a former technical writer-editor, lives on Whidbey Island north of Seattle. Her work has been published in Crosswinds Poetry Journal, The Comstock Review, Minerva Rising, Chautaqua, and elsewhere. A book of poetry, Small Favors (Kelsay Books), was published in 2021.