Not silver

The light is gold today
not silver–
champagne gold
not 14 karat, but gold nonetheless.
The gold air is moist today
not draining, leaching, drying;
The armored trees,
scaled in lichen,
are green-barked today
not grey and desolate–
the gold cast heals all.
The trees may still be bare,
but their boughs now bear potential
though the ground is still muddy,
still trampled-looking.

Inside, my tulips and crocus
are blooming,
yellow daffodill trumpets
blow in a warming breeze,
not a chilling blast.
My inner hyacinths are budding,
strange bulbous buds
on thickened stems
bearing weighty florets
that send forth
such heavenly fragrance.
What matter that the outer ground
shows yet no signs of life?
The light is gold today,
not silver.