Shh—

I feel you, Spring,
Buzzing around my head.
I hear you in my ears,
Reminding me what roots
And what sheds.

“Good is in the inside…”
Waiting! — To thaw,
To break open,
To bloom.

Your incessant whisper:
“Simplify, confront,
don’t avoid.”
Somehow! — Don’t avoid.

We can always get better
Things will always get better.

backroads

podencos:

I am grateful for my hands that allow me to cook for my lover and flip through pages in books and call my family and text my friends and run my fingers along fur and pluck flowers and cup my palms together in lieu of a makeshift telescope for spotting faraway planets all the way up in the night sky