april falls

from the wings
of heaven
dew drops fall
as silver coins
on april mornings.

hedgerows echo
to the sound
of rutting lust.
The bust and bang
of wombs exploding.

buds break
from the blooded scars
of autumn past,
unfolding notes
from guarantors
of summer shade
beneath the acid lime
and silver birch.

morning rest lost
to raucous ravens
demanding territory
in the home domain
of irredescent magpies,
starlings gathered deep
on springing lawns
to watch the sparring

from bursting bed
late worms
to early birds
and soil mourns
the loss of casts
in thousands.

the world erupts
In scent and sex

spring at last it says

-dave kavanagh

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