SPRING IS HERE

Driving through the countyside

during the first few days of April,

blooming forsythias caught my eye,

their flaming golden light

testing credulity like the voice Moses

heard from a burning bush.

I passed a Rubenesque woman, fully clothed,

splayed out face down on a grassy patch

in front of a converted trailer

that no longer rode the road.

At first glance I thought she was dead,

but as I drove by I could see that she was sleeping,

hugging the fecund earth, blissfully embracing it,

welcoming oracular rumblings beneath her,

buried labor pains, promising yet another Spring.