To Sarah, Darrell, Jason, Justin, and Jonny
It's here when the garden
by the doorstep is again
impatien-perfect and the primrose,
sun-colored, has petaled out.
When the robins resettle in
the yew, and orioles, thrushes
busy the morning with song, it's
here. When the web, dew-pearled,
is respun under the eaves and monarchs
dazzle the new-mown lawn and
your laughter sings over
the field like embers
soothing a long chill, I know,
at last it's here.