(for Dick)

Some burst like pale pink fireworks so early,
and I pull the car over to walk up a newly

greening slope and admire them up close,
tiny gems bobbing against a gray sky.

The first blossoms surprise me every year. And
here they are on the anniversary of your birth,

the day before the rest of the world celebrates
love, a hint of spring showing its eager face.

These precocious bloomers will soon disappear,
the trees will leaf out, later ones joining the chorus,

proof of love in floral form—like your unwavering
presence in my life, which leaves me astonished

once again by all things bright and beautiful that
seem to come early and last not nearly long enough.