English Spring

Misty rain, April chill. She'd been years in Mexico:

"Why can't it be hot like that every day? Then we'd be alright."

Still, yellow stripes cross my path, pink shadows under trees,

blossom drifts in gutters, neat lawns edged with icing.

Soon the petals will brown but the sun may surprise us,
shooting sap through our veins, a spring in our step.