Smaragdesert

Unseasonably warm

for St. Patrick’s Day….

The winter-bare branches wore green;

not full summer sleeves,

but more than a blush.

Smaragdine: yesterday’s word of the day…

a foreign word if ever there was one,

sounding like some cheek-curtling dessert

of the Vikings,

 rather than one that might–anon–

rename these purple, high-desert hills.

Hmmm…I imagine a coffee table book,

Smog to Smaragdine:

The Fashion Evolution of Global Warming.

 

This is not a poem…

just a bleary morning’s musing,

a means to pour the pollen-silt onto a page,

and clear my senses for the unrestrained Spring Revue

of birdsong and brightening sun:

Warming’s happy chorus of

What Is.

 

M.L.  3/ 18/17

 

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