I wouldn’t want to leave the Earth

in Spring, to miss the infancy

of every garden newcomer.

Each flower separates itself

from leaf, sits atop a green plate

and announces

the season is served.

I look out at the budded bonnet

of the camellia

and wait for its full revelation,

days away. Or the lilac,

quietly bottling its fragrance,

preparing for Mother’s Day

or an island parade.

Why the hummingbird

like a thrown dart

prefers its sugared water

to lavender heaven

is a question

that each Spring

goes unanswered.