Spring and The Fool
Spring loves a fool,
throwing her sticky caltrop
blossoms under his dancing toes,
laughing with him as the cold white
blood of January turns blue,
brims the river
and slides his fool’s shack
off the bank.
Spring cares for a fool,
washing his winter soiled
questions of living, tumbling them
in her dryer to be folded away
neat as a fallen leaf sorted back
sucking him up her pressure hose
for a lark, blowing him out the nozzle
or percolating him down from his cloud
as he juggles hail in the wild storm,
morning coffee for the
Even this spring
hot as any summer
where the flatbread plains crisp
under her sudden yellow eye; where running
before the distant blur of the moon the south wind
exhales with the used heat
of dragon breath.
Spring loves a fool
as the fool loves the dance.
Blistered feet soon summerheal,
distrained harvests soon reseed.
Thrice denied before dawn,
the sun’s judas kiss burning
on his cheek, still he sheds his skin
and dons his pointy hat
one more time.
I'm reposting this for Kerry's Wednesday Challenge at real toads, which is to explore the idea of Magical Realism, making connection with things through their unseen and mysterious attributes. Thanks, Kerry, for letting me dig this one out of the cellars of Castle Hedgewitch.