a first spring

the grass at the park
perched on a bluff 
overlooking the bay
was newly cut
yesterday

a deep inhale: cut grass
fresh chlorophyll seasoned
with sea salt and turned earth
the fragrance of an urban
spring

the green was deep
and new, dark, rich, 
a prayer of thanks
to grow, to grow to make
beautiful

this one small corner of
God’s cosmos, lush,
fertile, a silent hallelujah
as roots push down 
and blades raise up

regard what i smell:
for the pups, i strain
to imagine the riot, explosion
of scents, odors, intuitions
charged

this first spring 
our walk was slow
each plant, every blossom
and all that grass to sniff, inhale,
doggie rejoice

their prayer that this earth
be so thick in the
immediate, so exciting, so new,
so pounding alive!
and then they were tired
and we went home
and they slept, contented
with a first spring