Spring
primroses
splashes of paint
from the prised open
rusted tins of light
swung by the head-rushed Sun
daffodils
crowds of cyclopes
raising the chrome yellow
of their periscopes
surveying to see
the extent of the world’s
expectancy
bluebells
raising their lighters
from the rubble
of the forest floor
hold their blue flames
above their own graves
bow the smouldering stubs
of their heads
to ignite the soil
songbirds
frothing with song
tides tugging a little harder
seagull cries
fresh scalpel blades
placed against the seams
of the buds
breezes
brushing branches together
remembering
how to start fires
blossom
the slow sparks
taking days to fade
the tatters of winter’s
blood stained
white flag
