molting

Dressed in black,
black and grey–
A winter coat
I've yet to shed.

It bundles me
and hides my face,
a semi-molt of smoke.

While all around
the colors bloom
like watercolours seeping–

Pools of violet,
chartreuse, vermillion,
a peacock's splendor
permeates the world.

The queens of spring
dance their arabesque,
and couple with the flora
to masquerade the town.

They taste the luscious fruits
that slip into their hands
and sing a song of ecstasy,
exotic, wild, and blithe.

All the while I'm dressed in black,
black and grey–
A winter coat,
the ash of what once was.