Spring in Shotesham

The body remembers spring
thawing bones and winter complications;
the time when the glove
of the year is pulled
to the button, and feels the
fingers’ end. Dry shod wheat
taps the table, waiting for the
season to dress itself and
preen in green, spraying its
perfume to field lines
and serried hedges. In the
distance, unseen,
a cuckoo parses love.