Spring

There are certain greys
which can free you. These greys speak.
They whisper:
be warm
rest
we’ll hide the world, you hide yourself.
These are the greys that make greens
look alive. The greys that mirror the moors.
These are the greys that censor the vulgar sun.
These greys are the greys of early morning tea
warm throat
cool skin
fresh rain.
These are not the death scowl grays of winter
but the bird filled chorus rejoicing
listen
it is the birth gasp grey of spring.