What I Cannot Do

I cannot make you love
the way rain dripping
from April sky
sharpens redbuds
like lasers dissecting
a heart with precision
a surgeon envies

a fiery fuchsia
glowing against gray
skies and drizzled bark
scattered in the brush

but I can show you
new clover as small
as drops of water
bright as an emerald
sun, under cover
of dead winter grass.