Spring Sings

The sun sings Spring’s music,

with floral notes in the breeze,

and rainwater on ruby rosebushes.

In continual consonance.

I have an ear

for human harmony and the cadence

of the creek’s cicadas at twilight,

and the clickety-clack of the train’s timbre,

that tenuous toe-tap,

that makes my childlike heart hum.

“Word-warriors sing with me,

in a new love-language.”

One, two, three.

“Only love is the steady beat,

everything else is disharmony.”

I write Spring’s words in the half-light.

“Only love both listens and sings.”

The background humdrum of yellow bees

greet me when I wake under a ceiling of trees.

In delicious dissonance.

I have a vivacious voice

but I go to the tree-trail

just to listen

to the yellow-bellied songbird sing.