the beginning of summer
the cold has left, but it remains in the gale that passes by my window
the gray of the skies has bled into the palest blue
the sun has escaped its embrace in the clouds
the world just barely warm enough to walk under tree shade
their branches budding with pastel blooms and greener leaves
the spray of moringa over tank top clad, sunburned arms
begin clear mornings under the pleasant gift of the march month.
they speak of the coming summer, the sun only getting brighter
and in my crayon-colored sunlit room
the call of summer surrounds me with the possibility
of warmer skies, of careful breeze, of new life
the possibility of change and new beginnings
and of happiness from what was left behind.
