I’m having spring fever
Dreams again.
My hands ache to be
Anchored in dirt
Like the roots of a plant,
Delicate and stubborn.

My skin begs for the sun,
Leave kisses where
She’s been. Freckles, undiscovered
****** constellations,
Guide me home; a map to
The real garden of Eden.

My lungs crave the sweet,
The musky,
The dusty smell of outside;
Fresh and natural.
The cold smell of winter lingers,
But not much longer.

Ears attuned to every song
Of the birds,
And every chirp of an insect;
Music to my ears,
The sound of celebration. Growth,
We are all becoming.