It’s cold and gray where you live in Illinois.
Here in California everything’s blooming:
cabbage moths sail cloud-like above the garden,
blue irises, graceful onions, marigolds.
One dragonfly, a Devonian refugee
perches gleaming in sunlight on tomato-cage.
Acceptance offers me unwanted lessons.
Who’s in charge here, God or me? Who’s in charge of
the weather between us, all this winterspring?