Sweet like morning dew on

blades of grass before the

ladybugs come to drink.

On our lapels, the stars

we used to keep in our eyes,

safer where they can at least

be washed and pressed.

The glens roll in the spring,

white then purple then yellow

then blue with the scent of

summer, and the heat takes up

the flower colonies.

Pollen drains into our pores

and we wait, wait

for spring again.