Suspended Animation
During the second spring,
gorse opened exploratory
canary buds, lending
a perfume of coconut
to apathetic winds.
The ground slept, twitched.
A faint to forget
the warmest year.
I shuffle in enforced
slow motion decay,
rusty wool wrapping me.
Under the frozen pond
scored with desire lines
of dreaming crystalline-
slight flutters, small hearts.
I see needles made swords
spring slumbering under frost
Buds now fading suns.