Spring is burgeoning
in the wizened hand of winter
but there is still snow on the horizon—
even as the mosquitos begin their equivalent-to-fucking.
It’s really something to watch the world turn,
to watch life running, fucking circles around itself,
and this renewal makes the earth feel almost infinite
in its capacity to replenish; all while we choke the light out.
i never think i’m going to do this and then it’s 11:50-something.. on 1 april.. again.