What's happening in the world?

It's just another winter...  

Just another winter?....
Is that what you think?

Yes, I do!
That's what my calendar tells me...

Ok... what will happen next?

April will come...

Are you sure that April will come?

Yes, I'm sure!
I've heard a bird singing... that's a good sign that April will come...

But what should we do?

We should live our lives!!
Get our summer dresses and hats ready!

Do you think we'll get to wear them?

I think we should get them ready...
We should try our summer dresses on today!!!

... Because there's no plan B and there's no planet B...

Please put on your summer dress 👗!.!..
Give me your hand...
Dance 💃🏻 with me... my beautiful partner...

Should we wear masks 😷?

We don't really need masks 🎭!!!

The music is playing... give me your hand...

And 1-2-3... 1-2-3... 1-2-3...

April still reigns

In frost bitten dreaming

Of the sleeping

Summer's fleeting

Before the advancing

Silence of fall

To lay waste

Crawling back to the silken

Dreaming chambers

Blue, and frigid

Melting slowly away

April shall reign.

I looked out my window
On a dark April evening
And my heart lifted up.

One
Yellow
*****
Had bloomed.

Had pushed through the dirt without any sun
Had lasted the winter without any care.
The smallest yellow *****
Had bloomed

On its own
And it was ok.
And I was ok.
And we would both be ok.

We built this house. We eat watermelon on the floor, spitting seeds across a shooting range measured by the planks in the floor.

We built this house. We spill barbeque sauce while trying to make pizza and lick it from each other like wild animals, we are free.

We built this house. We drink our coffee cold. We’re too busy looking at each other to drink it hot. I guess we’re admiring the temperature of each other instead.

We built this house. My eyes are the color of the garden you gave me, watered by the April showers of tough times. Flowers come in spring.

We built this house. Your eyes fell from the stars, your dreams stayed there, never to come back down.

We built this house. We dance in our underwear as we pack away our scars, the scars that don’t scream,

we can walk away from this quietly.

We have never loved each other more than this moment, but now this moment has passed. We sit across from each other in more April showers, flowers come in spring. We sit on the wrong sides of the table. Packing our scars into separate boxes, they scream. We keep them quiet.

If Christ can move stone to forgive our sins, why can’t we?

Rip open the scars that scream, pack them with the dirt of a grave, you are ready to let them die. You are ready to plant seeds. Flowers come in spring. We don’t wait for healing to find us. We have risen from the ground and better **** well act like it. You water flowers, not leave. Regrowth happens in spring.
We are spring.
We are spring.

We built this house.

First days of spring
How many poems have been written about you?
Could you count them on all your fingers and toes
finally free from wool socks
or on your highway medians’ flower buds
barely visible from the rolled-down windows of passing cars?

Let me add one more set of words--
images of a Saturday afternoon in April
cats snoring
pressed against sun-dappled window screens
and daffodils adorning
even the smallest patches of earth
between city streets and sidewalks

And most of all
that sublime knowledge
a proof of concept
that bulbs become blossoms
that winter layers will be shed.

The things I thought were dead and rotting
were only dormant for a season.
The chill of winter--which will come back--
fades for now, replaced by milder breezes.

The dull walk to my parked car
a trudge that seemed so long and dreary
is now a brief journey
dotted with colors and  
full of the splendor of living things.

I inhabit my silent cave with soft ease
welcome it's embrace
to mould its temporary shell
encased around my shape
leaks seep through with the ceiling cracks
from too many layers of alabaster

hide buckets and bowls inconspicuous
the lakes dare reflect their hits and misses
the floor a constant magma
and the sky too low to stretch steps on a spine

tracking the navigation of a falling sliver
always seemed so simple
now all they do is pool
on barren cheeked horizons
tips of icebergs
on frozen stranger

April showers bring May flowers
They say, they've said for ages gone
But what when April's dry as bones
Parched and bleached by desert suns
And May, her lover, weeps and groans
And the flowers blossom anyway?

She awoke in the clouds
bright, light, and ethereal.
her cheeks the color of...

The April breaking dawn -