Plenty of Spoons

 

Plenty of Spoons

Here at last's the balm we imagined:
warm spring rain, stones and stumps
velvet with moss, a bump of distant

thunder, a sky stone-colored and
keeping us company with gossip about
the coming storm. I'd like its drama

to arrive here, even flash the lights a
little, just for something lively to
chatter about; this air's an old friend

I haven't had lunch with in months.
Across the creek, daffodils flash
peak yellow, a unity of bloom, a big

demonstration about to hit the streets.
Online, everyone's posted shots of
last night's sunset, all purple and pink,

well-meaning magic by a being I want
to think capable of such kindness, a sweet
god with plenty of spoons to pull it off.