HAD THE SMELLS

Had the smells of spring not burst upon us,

Could my strength sustain the weightless

Winds of other spring-mooned-gusts retraced in gusts

Called back, upholding memory’s quest?

Would we have discovered thunder’s heel

Stamping green through things neglected; see

Tulips pose in boisterous rain, or feel

Tall again to trees repaired with leaves?

Would I need your eyes, or seek your hand

Held warm; found reprieve from wanting only

You to sing:  or would the music stand

Stopped, and falter, leaving less  of me?

Would it matter what was left to find

If finding’s cost was counted more than all

Sight, and seeing’s cost must count us blind.

Is the searching nothing but a wish?

Or is the searching remembered as a kiss?

Is there more than searching for the fall

Or is it just the search

Why do I search, why don’t you call?

                                                                 

                                                                 Or is the search as futile as a wish, 

                                                                 Or is the search remembered as a kiss, 

                                                                 Or is the search measured as a kiss?