We Ought to Burst into Bloom

This morning my wife brought me
a scilla blossom in a little
toby jug. It made an oasis
in the desert of my desktop.
It isn’t so much that it is
our first spring flower though
that is cheerful in itself
as it is that such a small stem
could hoist such a bloom and
color it such a deep blue.
There are marvels everywhere you look.
I wish people when touched by
the fingers of spring, the sun,
birdsong, warm rain, instead of
folding the morning in a briefcase
with the calloused fingers of habit,
would burst into flower with green hair
and petals opening at every joint,
and perhaps a leaf or two to remind us
of the clothes our forebears wore
in the Garden.