Vesna*
Under the solitary watch
of our nearing, warming, rising sun
and into the chill of a worldly night,
miracles in miniature sing their hymns of spring.
Exquisite shades and shapes of doll-sized hearts
stretch amidst a gradient green of branch and limb
against the moist cushion of field grasses and ground.
With an ardor of flowers the changeling earth
frees its slow, sweet scent
and dances to a tropical beat of avian voices
flown north from their meridian home.
Glistening veils of light
spin in wisps and webs
toward the promising sky,
breathing of a choir more perfect
and untold worlds more gently formed
of purity and splendor so bright
that even the angels are blind.
*vesna [Polish]: spring
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