by Nora Pace
you could not love me too much,
nor could the seahorses gambol
too brightly through the coral.
spring happened all at once:
dormant until bursting bacchanal
sending up fragrance like confetti
the blossoms bouncing three sheets to the wind
which rousts robins
pastoral jasmine and magnolia
murmuring pink and sunset
strains of symphonies
balloon-filled skies
the vines spinning in miraculous rain
gaudy tulips popping.
You and I are passions born of gods,
we are no cemetery clematis;
we are gossipy hydrangeas
and punch drunk peonies.
You could not love me too much,
nor could the marigolds be tamed.
— from Juniper Volume 3, Issue 3