thou answerest them only with spring – E.E. Cummings
these skies will make themselves
known as pirate waters: tumultuous,
stirred dark and deep. steeped in
skeletal clouds and masthead thunder.
we’ll wonder how we ever found the sun.
we swallow all this distant gray and
unearth the laughter bursting from soil,
these petaled breaths that stir us into
something more. these startled songs
of crimson, yellow, scarlet as a sunset.
these tiny things, these quiet-budding
hopes and grounding dreams, in hearts
that just begin to thaw, still raw and sleepy
in their winter coats. still puffy-eyed and
mostly silent, waiting for the kiss of spring.
Prompted by Poetic Asides.