I Want to Hear Colors

I want to hear these cold wet daffodils
as poetry in my storm tossed mind

I want to hear the world described
from out of the fog rolling through the trees down into the valley

In words that float or sing to which
I feel a dance coming on

I want to swim the gray air hovering over the garden
swim through it to the hidden
sun
Then afterwards I will know once more
what colors to paint the easter eggs

The dance of spring revealing itself again and again.