Out my springtime southwest window
white pines rejoice in the
Wisconsin wind and
corroborate in a cabaret
of their own creation.
Some needle bunches sway side to side
like lovers interlaced in languid embrace.
Others bounce brusquely up and down
like children tramping up a hill
Over there, clumps attract attention
with abrupt and fanciful flings.
And there! See them float like ladies’
slik scarves caught in a brisk breeze,
while bunches more circle like
a crazed conductor’s baton
in a flourish of major movement.
Outside my springtime southwest window
I am reminded of the marvel all about me—
Sometimes nouns are verbs!