I am not sure
if swallows have returned to Capistrano
but dolphins have returned to Venice

We walk our back garden
alone together

The weeping cherry
drops white tearlets
onto purple Solomon’s seal
surging up from winter rest

Bolder peonies
in deep red
are already knee high

Daffodils and Lenten roses
nod their greetings
while shy vinca tries to hide
their blue in green skirts

Radishes arise
as we bury potatoes

Bloodroot’s pure white flowers
beneath budding trees
belie its name

Our constructed world slows
as God’s world grows

And dolphins swim past
quiet Venetian streets

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