On the day of vernal equinox, erotic crocus martial
white floral attendants, unfurl from chilled earth.
Spring evokes a profusion of diminutive petals,
scatters volunteer bouquets over granular sand.
Noon winds turn, carry a sweet suggestion
of blossoming alyssum's burgeoning musk.
I tenderly transplant symbolic germinations,
colonize bare beds of a possible poem.
Within a week, alyssum invades every inch,
transforms granite words with flowery scent.
Jennifer Lagier is an aging hippie who has failed her way through multiple careers. She now consorts with others who share her addiction to the arts and a fascination with snakes.