Late, Last Kiss

Last night late winter
wrote white kisses

into young greeny grasses,
into the yellow daffodil,

icy kisses for Spring,
who shivered, slipped into
a sweater, lamented her lost
magnolias then ordered up
extra apples, juicier berries
louder birdsong, and laughed

knowing she could be
slowed but never stopped
knowing this kiss would be

his last
her first.

for Jeff Gage