blackthorn

there is a dark spine to this spring

slick black wood cannot warm the blossom;

the dead eyed blue sky backdropping

the blooms and buds is pellucidly clear -

no hiding place here from shadows

darkness and cold, creeping fear

the promise of sloes in the autumn

is no use to me here, now; I need

ripeness, warmth, and fat squashed

plump abundance, I need life

and joy and plenty and careless lips

stained with warm berries and greed

© Teresa Durran 200410