Late May the grass by the pond’s grown tall where the frogs like to sing and screw
and the song draws the dark down with the dew and we are all awash in it, spring!
A medley of smells of cedar and pine a rough smell both dirty and clean:
Look how the roots of those big trees bear down like knuckles on the ground
Listen to the first birds then the tapestry of song they make together
See the young ferns unfurl with the quiet grace of a snail…
And everywhere I am here amid all this, my feet on the ground and planted
The mind diminished, my thoughts hushed, both rooted and lifted by these trees.
Spring, in you I am born and from you made full again.
This tapestry of song, this celebration of life, through this thread I am connected, spring!