The Busker

Beneath the beanie
And stolen raincoat
Hides golden-glow,
Summer apple skin,
Dew-drop, sky-split eyes,
Velvet, breath-warm,
Ebony hair,
And wings
In slings.

Gloved hands
Clutch at the memory
Of a harp.
Through siren-traffic
Rush-hour busy-busy,
And the January sales stampede,
Golden music wends
Melting the slush
And warming small smiles.

In a winter doorway,
Spring blooms.

***It’s Beltane! I love Beltane 🙂 Dug through my old collection to see if I had any spring-related poems, and this one has the word spring in it, so this one’s for you. I hope your Maytime is a fruitful one.

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