Poem 3

Spring is in her early days
Leaving secret notes in apple tree buds
Waiting for me to unravel her riddle

I was always told she wore only brown
Not a pretty shade, but the musty, rotting carcass of a colour
I have believed that lie for too long

Everything you know about a person can be undone
by looking deep into the rivers of her eyes
until you are uneasy or at rest

I can see where the lie came from
Me, moving so quick that colours blur through car windows
She, thinking I would appreciate subtlety and patience

I walk slow, up along the river valley ledge
Perfect timing, as the sun waves to the moon
And pussy-willows puff their furry chests to catch the final flecks of gold

Branch-tips touch my eyes like Midas and turn my head towards Spring
Just as she reveals herself and hands me a bouquet
In all the healing colours of death's thaw

Silver ice caps float across azure so deep you think of stars
Grass is bleeding out the crimson of a long winter, becoming
Green deep enough to fill a city with regret

I want to stop my wandering
Lean back against this budding tree
Listen for a century

Dave Von Bieker

Dave Von Bieker, 11243 85 St NW, Edmonton, AB, T5B 3C6, Canada

Dave Von Bieker lives at the intersection of art, faith, hope and love. He has 2 great kids, a fantastic wife, and a mostly good dog. He plays red guitars and drives red cars.