Love’s Return
thaw—
chameleon-clad hylas
swarm the moss-green ponds
and buds of water lilies
arise from stalks
among the mottled pads—
I thought you were gone,
buried under hills of snow—
now you return
in the low hum of bees,
the soft whisper
of butterfly wings
I feel you near
in the warmth—
yet I somehow know
you have always been
with me in the cold.
— D. G. Vachal 2026
Image: Seerosen (1915) by Claude Monet
Almost April — there is a moment just before spring fully arrives,
when nothing seems to have changed,
and yet, everything has already begun.
Almost April
when crocuses,
aconites
speckle colors
on frigid earth,
and buried bulbs unfurl
their green fingers —
Somewhere
a cold cauldron sits
atop a flame,
warmth simmers:
imperceptible
as approaching dawn.
Almost morning:
when softest tones tiptoe
through purple darkness,
and wakening lark arises
in radiant song,
ruptures
daybreak deafness.
Almost laughter
— D. G. Vachal
This poem is from my collection
The Turning of Light
a book that follows the quiet unfolding
of the seasons within and around us.
If you’d like to explore the full collection:
The Turning of Light
Image (public domain): William J. Forsyth (American, 1854–1935), Crocuses, oil on canvas.
Garden Haiku
1
petals drenched in rain
chantilly lace, ocean’s froth
herons stoop on grass.
2
purple butterflies
aubergine in soft twilight
starling wings in flight.
D. G. Vachal ©2025
Towards End of April
gentler now the winds
while colors turn vibrant
and perfumed air
tiltillates my nostrils,
arouses my senses —
I was accustomed to the comfort
of my cold dreams,
aloft in clouds
of forgetfulness,
now comes April’s light
at dawn —
beneath the infinite sky
the feeble glow of constellations
illuminates pathways
unfathomable:
winding miles to travel
before winter.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Evgeni Tcherkasski @ Unsplash
April
Here you come once again
with your delicate rains:
petals break forth like the rainbow
while scarlet-breasted robins
alight
upon the thickening carpet
of emerald grass —
You perplex me so:
warm and cold,
endearing and aloof,
the way long-forgotten loves
drove me to the very edge
of madness —
O April,
enshroud me in the intimacy
of your mysteries,
then will I comprehend the reason
for the ethereal blossoms
fragrant
in the month of May.
D. G. Vachal © 2025
Image by Donna McCl @Unsplash
lilies, sparrows and grass 
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