Nassau Spring Song
The trees are sprouting blossoms. Don’t know why.
This winter’s crisped along gunpowder dry.
But everywhere, the blossoms. Over here
they’re modest, olive-coloured; on our pear,
their green is tender, delicate, small sprays
of sudden promise, thickening the days
with guacomole hope.
But it’s the mango trees you notice. Blossoms feather
their knife-leaf boughs as snow-birds gather
to make their long flights north. If there’s no storm,
we’ll have a syrup summer, sweet and warm.