I wish it could always
be this time of year.
The nesting oriole in the palm
pestering the cat on the railing below.
Bird songs fill the neighborhood.
Vasant means the joy of spring
in Sanskrit.
The  potato bush feels it,
the poppies in bloom,
my new lemon grass just planted
and ‑ pride of my heart ‑
gotu kola.
And, no doubt, the cat,
walking into the kitchen
with the rabbit
in his mouth.


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