For the first time this year                                                                                                                              I dragged out the old blanket and spread it on the grass.                                                                  Dozed with my head on my arm,                                                                                                                 the sun warm enough to make me shed a layer.                                                                                   Oh boy my soul needed that sweet touch.                                                                                           And I dozed to the buzzing of bees                                                                                                              in the gold and purple crocuses.

At dusk I stood on the lawn and felt                                                                                                         air move against my skin.                                                                                                                               Not the numbing cold                                                                                                                                    that freezes tears in your eyes.                                                                                                                    But an air scented with earth.

My son pointed out the sliver of waxing moon                                                                                          hanging between silhouetted tree branches,                                                                                             delicate as lace mantillas.

The moon siren,                                                                                                                                           and the faint pulse coursing through the soil                                                                                             seduced the tree frogs out of hiding                                                                                                            to call in lusty peeps                                                                                                                                      from the unfrozen pond.

And now, against the darkness of a spring night                                                                                     A moth drives it’s wings against my window                                                                                             Oh so eager to step inside and make mad                                                                                                  passionate love to my lamp.