Equinox 1962

Wind tamps the mint green ground. Breeding bud stripes the pinafored thorn.

There’s new spattered seed, too: tiny porcupine quills, and a mounting kick that frets and fizzes the air at two jumps height.

Schoolboys no longer dribble down small paths their old brown moon. Loud sticks and stubs fly up. Spring flowers chivvy the stone’s loin.