April is the month of trials
The white clematis
sails her ivory suns but
it's still a winter sea;
grass greens, chittery birds
coddle imperative eggs
high in the chartreuse oak-buds,
yet the sky
has winter stars.
April twirls a fever in his
too soon among the trying
I'm still dressed
in winter constellations
turning to disappear
around the corner of the world.
I'm big with clouds
and pushing snow,
an arctic wind winding down,
a whitened hawk with neither mouse
nor berry, a starveling pecking
raisins from a century's hard summers.
April lullabies believing buds with
brassy heat before a sneaking frost,
before he blows the old leaf off,
used up and shattering on an iron storm,
to fly, to fall, to rot out on the traitor earth
another's passing July life.
Image: Clematis henryii, ©joyannjones 2015