On The Great Lawn of my mind,
The city's biggest dance floor,
Upon its cushions, stepping lightly,
The spring breeze, feeling its way,
Making, reawakening, a thousand acquaintances,
Absent parent kissing each long-lost babe-blade of grass

Breeze takes each blade of spring grass:

Cajoles, asks not,
With windy hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Breeze makes each one
Neck, caress their neighbor,
A thousand pas de deuces of  
fresh faced green children.
All in all a triumphant processional,
Cloaked in robes of sky blue velvet,
Crowned by the sun's burnt orange kisses.

At the middle school dance,
The walls are portrait painted  
with the shy ones,  
The ones-who-don't-know-how-to-ask.
Passover's children
Needy for a Moses.

Student of the spring breezes,
This silly earnest teacher/chaperone,
Grand-pa-rent will:


Cajole, ask not,
With hands, guided missiles,
gentle/firm
push/pull
engage/ disengages,
open/closes

Under his tutelage,
Every boy and girl
A dancer, a blade,  
Each a Passenger on the fuselage
Of his Spring Ballroom breeze.

These are my spring rites  
imagined,
Visions of my sight  
unimpaired,
Present and future  
clarified.

Soon we will teach our own  
Little Princes and Princesses,
The shelter of dancing,
Feel the embrace of nature,
Under the mantle of an  
A Capella choir of tree leaves,
We will lie side by side,  
Skyward pointing,
Sharing our spring-sprung imaginings,
Performing each and all  
Upon the breeze to carry away,
For all to gleeful applaud!