Maybe They Call it Spring

Maybe they call it Spring

because it's like a leap

across a chasm

from Winter to Summer.

Maybe they call it Spring

since it's like a dream

dripping away at

the shift from night to day.

You tighten your fluttering

eyes against the light,

protesting the loss of your

other life, no matter

how fractured or weird.

Night memories wiggle

out of the bed before you

find your feet on the floor.

Maybe they call it Spring

because it strings together

the two large seasons

we sing out our dharma.

You fight off the darkness

at night...you check your

list, as your lids resist

the urge to rest. You don't

want to leave the day;

it could be your last.

You plead one more icy

glass of kitchen water.

Maybe they call it Spring

because the thrash of rain

is calling your name, back to

the Winter you want to forget.

You fight off the brilliance

of noon day sun. You go

inside and hide in a book,

(the original sun block).

One hour later you check

the clock, change your

clothes, unwrap the hose,

take care of the garden.

Maybe they call it Spring

to draw your face to the earth,

where hyacinths break your

heart, like a one night stand.

Like circles upon circles,

maybe they call it Spring

repeating the lessons,

promising rebirth.