Spring Song

I've memorized the urchin flowers 

that disintegrate upon the driveway 

whose scents become our own vibrato. 

I think in music still, despite the closed case 

of dark red velvet, maybe like the surface 

of a dry sleeve.What is it that always shines 

when weather presses up against 

desire? Perhaps the African daisies 

in the median of the highway we take 

en route to the arboretum, the gum tree

called Mr. Big, wider than twelve fullbacks,

where we visit wildflowers and cactus 

perfume, my idea of a good spring, 

venturing to find the simplest thing.