February And Beyond

March Dusks

Blackbirds sing into vernal dusk
until the blue is Prussian-caked as black.
Last, locking moments of a turning key
seem an eternity - Hendrix Little Wing,
Chopin preludes might be borne in mind -
annunciations rending silence in their own time,
firework minutes of a basined day,
worth all the rest, are all the rest
not just in summary - essence
first distilled, then tricked out in diamonds,
winning hands flung down;
cards folded away in the dark.
There is no greater Bling nor
fey gift of heart's desire than these
flung fantasias in blue, in land we love,
that run us through and through
and through. Oh may they ever do.

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