Prompt: a duplex, per Jericho Brown
The air so still
it makes my heart thrum.
I can hear the strumming robins’ wings
as they dart and dip
beneath the dippling lilac bough
that came down in the storm,
fragile pale buds, downy
as a chick’s new feathers.
The feathered frill of the daffodils
offers sheltering cups
for the bees, sheltered there
against the spring’s cold
a cold that’s holding on this year
to the air so still
it makes my heart thrum.