spring don't melt

I saw
so many white azaleas
stuffed in there with the green
they seemed like snow -
I thought they were nothing but fresh freedom
that would be gone
like the mix of our breathing -
thought those petals might run down the street
turning their pristine feet
to sludge,

but as morning slinks near,
 my love in its ear -
looming, it peeks
over the shoulders of the oaks,
ready for that gunfight
 with the night before -

it dives into
this hour - it lights
the white
in and out of my eyes, and I find
 only blooming.