And so it is
the day after Easter,
a similarly gorgeous day,
warm and dry at long last,
spring blasting out of ground and trees and sky
with look-at-me insistence.

And we do.
We cannot look away, nor do we want to,
finally released from what has gripped us,
at last able, many of us, to inhale fully
sweet air washed clean
by storm after storm.

We revel in it,
tempted to find an unspoiled patch
of eye-popping green to roll on like puppies,
bellies up, flashing the impossibly blue,
dreamed-of sky we found
difficult to summon

on the grayest wet days,
which we now cannot imagine,
which we tuck away with the sweaters
and the cold, and rush outside
to embrace the warm.