This morning I put two jars and a DVD
in a plastic bag, drive over
to my friend’s house, leave it by her door.
This feels like a vacation, an escape
from the house, fifteen minutes
to hear songs on a homemade CD.

Then back home, the crabapple in bloom,
irises thickening purple stalks.
I talk to them now,
not keeping six feet away. Spring,
precious, ephemeral,
like the redbud,
done blooming just yesterday.

I try to keep spring from leaving,
call out to it. From the porch,
I watch it go.