On the first morning of Spring

I lay watching the sweet garden light

from a new lover's window,

my head on a lace- trimmed pillow,

the smell of flowers and sex

active in the gentle air.

An incense potent and clear

finds an open path

to the base of my memory.

More vivid than mere color,

the incense ignites long neglected hopes,

creasing the stiff fabric of my defenses,

blending the past and future

into this brilliant moment.

The cat stares calmly

from the mounds of pink linen

gathered at the bed's wide foot.

Its eyes laid upon mine

with the weightlessness

of first love's sight.

Suspended as a bubble in jell

I wondered at this crystal scene:

wondered when I would awake,

wondered if those eyes were mine,

wondered if there is real time,

wondered why this dawn would die.

Spring is short,

sometimes only an hour;

And in this hour of new-born spring

the knowledge and love exposed

is worth the energy devoured

to revolve the world again.