This is spring. It was slowly rolling out the end of the tube (in bubbling -sinking tones notes stone son(n)et) into the dark blue ditch full of evening. The surface of the moon was angling sharply up at the sky. Cool wind blew night out of its corners --from around the roots of the scraggle plants
now it's wandering in and out of cherry blossoms
stinking the day with cherry blossoms
Warm rooms become hot rooms, the pulse rises, the trees breathe out thin green wire lungs in clumps, or are gripped with seeds
time is measured by naps or warm days between snowfalls,
hands down, it's spring,
hands up, it's spring!
Richard Simmons shorts make appearances every half an hour, I froze my toes snow hiking the day before Easter, and we found where they keep the heat lamps in the biology building.
