I am Filled with Love for Something
It’s spring again and the early rain is contending with hyacinths for my mood.
It’s clear from the smile I feel like confectioner’s sugar on my post-donut lips that I can love.
I wouldn’t say love the world, because optimism can’t be that inclusive
unless we cover our eyes with daffodils and have mating cardinals perch on our earlobes.
Gushing about the awakening earth makes sense from the safe distance of a page.
But this is a draft of feeling I’m not yet ready to specify or revise.
If I were AI, I could use as an example the pond newly thawed.
But even Thoreau had his reservations, as I have mine
for Easter brunch on this bright, crisp, ascendant day with its hymns and vigils.
I do love creation, but to take the myth at face value would ruin the mood.
From her window bed my white-muzzled dachsund is tracking a squirrel.
Does she love it or just the idea that it is shaking its tail to satisfy her?