BORROWED LIGHT

The gray, velvet curtain of clouds
parted ever so briefly last night
revealing a moon, growing
more full of herself,
as she peered out.
I was there to see her,
the form of smile
shared between us
despite the chill
of the too winter-like spring.
This morning the sad
drooping daffodils said
they saw her too, captured
her luminescence, and
reaching up, opened
to free her beauty
into a gray, rainy day.

THE MUSIC OF SPRING

The music hides, just out of sight,
beyond the edge of hearing.
We assume it must be something by Mozart
or at least Bach, a tocatta and fugue,
swallowed by the trees, the cardinal singing
faintly, mirroring the tune,
but there is only the wind
meandering throught the pines
which have cast off the weight
of winter and patiently await
the fullness of spring, swaying
and singing a song to the night.