This April
This April
could not care less for
your despair
with its thousand blooming skies
great schools of birds
weaving light and circles
through the afternoon
you felt would never come
This April with its
front seat full of banksias
a wattle leaf mottled in some glorious
green-gold you’ve never painted
and a neck covered in tiny spiders
moving between you and the stems
like even you might be some
natural beauty to digest
driving, this April,
home
and feeling (though you didn’t expect it)
excited to see their heads
small and wanting
to make you their home