On Spring

Time warps again, and spring
is on us. Sharp thirsts
for color and light

and more such lusts erupt
as we shake our manes
and breathe into some semblance

of the selves we had stowed.
Seems long ago!
Like Christmas, full of ghosts,

we may be with the one,
some other, an in between, an unknown,
or under a new moon

alone. For you lucky ones with hands
itching for black dirt,
it’s time for sowing. That ritual flurry

to bear fruit leaves
little time
for melancholy.

 

#5 of 30 poems in 30 days for National Poetry Writing Month, April 2017

Image by John Livzey

One thought on “On Spring

  1. Pingback: NaPoWriMo2017 ~ Celebrating the Sensate | Teresa Young

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