I'm in love with summer.
Standstill air,
dandelions drifting
the weight of the sky
pressing white heat.
Cold, waves beating the shore,
ceaselessly into the past,  
of when I was drowned
in your dreams.

I'm in love with autumn.
Crisp air,
Nudging leaves off gnarly oaks
and tall, regal cedars.
Lost in the anagram of colors,
I see fire,
      I see blood red.
I see a Faustian bargain
            but we won.

I'm in love with winter.
The biting cold in my fingertips,
the solitude of confinement,
walls of windows show snow
that blankets every edge.
And the birds that have left,
to warmer places.
Opportunity, that's what you said.
And your bags, and you,
were gone in the blowing snow.

I'm in love with the spring.
The clear blue waters,
and ferryboats beating against the current,
the gardens bursting into light,
the promise of growth and
of future
and of hope.
but, I guess, we weren't meant to grow old.
And the sight of spring flowers
and trees with bright green buds,
makes me sick to my stomach.

I am in hate with the spring.