Walk with me a while
give me one last kiss on parting
good friends and lovers
secretly and silently entwined
yet I am ever thought as old
and you a young and pretty thing
winter sighs a final breath
and bends to kiss the hand of spring

Spring is ready
underneath each piece of fertile land
the heist is being planned
a plot to steal old winter's icy crown
wrapping it in warmer days to melt it down

I hope the snow never stops again!
I hope the Winter sinks under our skins!
I hope our four feet freeze
to the cold concrete
while our ghosts both escape in our breath!

If the thaw never comes to our aid
I'll be fine in these tracks that we've made.
I'll be okay right here
with a frostbit sneer
painted large on my **** stupid face!

               You've got the brains...
                   But not the time...

                  I had the dreams...
        But you knew I'm not too bright.

You'd rather leave than throw me a bone.
I'd rather live out my days in the cold
than beg you for one
while you don't have fun
and resent me for you growing old.

I'd rather freeze than thaw with a lie!
You'll be gone with the peak daytime high.
You're the smart one with big Springtime plans.
And I'm holding the bag with chapped hands...

Nicky, the neighbor’s dog, drags a road **** home.
A beautiful pelt like those fox shoulder garments women wore in the
      forties.
But the head is crushed beyond recognition—maybe it’s a fox and that’s
      why Nicky, a canine, is conducting this wake on our front lawn.

Loretta, my wife’s mother, is in the hospital again. Forty years of Crohn’s
      disease has finally broken her.
It may take some time but she won’t bounce back from this episode.
None of us are sorry to see her die, not even Loretta. There will be a
      thunderous downpour during her last hour.

I like the story about the nuns hitting Peg in school–contumacy is a sin.
Emile and Loretta considered it an inappropriate punishment for their
      cherished adopted daughter.
So they pulled her out of Catholic for public school. They did their own
      thinking about discipline.

Early Spring, peepers all night, then the birds take over at dawn.
      Soothing—the mourning doves.
During this half of the year, May through October, we live in a green
      bower.
We turn the house inside out, move into the mountains.

In their annual order, flowers appear in the understory: coltsfoot, hepatica
      and trillium through to the end, late purple aster, spotted joe pye and
      pearly everlasting.
We let Nicky nurse her road ****, watch over it, roll around on it.
Don’t let go of the steering wheel while driving fast in the passing lane.

I’m a tightrope walker, strung between
the hedonistic abyss of winter break and
the unforgiving canyon of organic chemistry.

The stack of spring syllabuses are a prophecy whispered
in Latin. The story they tell haunts my dreams - wherein
each biochemical is a monster lurking in the shadows.

“I’m not in a tailspin, that would be unfair,” I tell Lisa, “I’m in a lull.”
“It’s like that awkward time, between a hangover and drinking again.” she laughs.

Sure, I envisage late, week night study grinds, and sleepless
hours, but the price of serious things isn’t trivial - success and hard
work are, unfortunately, yoked together, like Shakespeare’s double shadow.

A tough spring curriculum won’t stop me from
taking 3 or 4 minutes to dance with roomates
when a head-banger like ‘Spiral City’ plays or
enjoying sudden, late night jelly bean melees.

And then there are the spring things that spark joy.
Walking to class on a brilliant spring morning,
with birdsong, a warm sun and fragrant breezes.

Laughs stolen in the back of classes,
gossip and secrets exchanged over
guilty coffee and croissant indulgences.

Skipping through crowded halls, drawing looks
‘cause we’re clapping aggressively to each other, singin’
“You got the swag sauce, she dripping swagu, ooh!”

“Ok,” I think to myself, putting my hair in a ponytail,
“I’m ready for spring semester - bring it on.”

We moved back into the residence yesterday - we were jubilant - and had a slumb-over last night, to celebrate our reunification. We woke up joyous, on the right side of the same bed (slumb-over), and we’ve been bouncing off the walls ever since.

We’re in the ‘settling in’ phase, restocking our Keurigs, getting our same-’ol furniture in the same-’ol places, picking up our books. In this liminal space, between sugarplums and sutures, our shrinking free-time will sag with increasing weight. Even last night’s normally fabulous martinis began to taste metallically laced with formaldehyde.

Once we’re settled in, our leisure will begin to have the tight, mangled fit of a borrowed jacket. “We’ve got to gear up.” Lisa said, just this morning and even as I type this, my eyes are flitting between my dog-eared copy of Gray's Anatomy and the mcat prep hub.

Classes start in 5 days. Free days burn bright, but disappear in a blink. Time is a precious coin.

slumb-over = slumber party.

Love given, but not taken, is not love un-received;
You have love to give,
That is something.
Whether their heart is open
To the souls' hymns
Your words sing,
The song is never wasted-
But goes through changes,
As the renewal of spring.

I settle on a seat distant from the world and my life
Here I observe the souls of those overcome with strife  
Settling on a bench sheltered with fallen flowers
from the shivers of trees recovering from nighttime terrors
Red plaid shorts damp beneath me
A book sprawled open on my lap watching with pure envy
as my eyes trace a phrase my mind is quickly trapped in
"its the truth even if it didn't happen"
I experience the sun blaze its rays down onto my thighs
Drawing crimson marks with my nails, I analyze
There's a strange sense of comfort in the burning sensation
The fear of not knowing what to expect consumes my self isolation
The unknown lingers in my mind, crimson now engrossed
I can always trust that the sunlight will never stop sizzling sunburnt skin
So instead of cursing the pain, I find it sublime
for it is the most secure I've felt in a long time

mittened hands wrapped
around hot choc mugs
light-hearted bickering
over the tones and shades
of leaves yet to fall
chilly sun-streaked mornings
of fresh earthy air
and early hibernation nights
of gathered quietude
that indulgent autumn
for which she longed
seemed not to arrive
at least not as expected
set to follow the bright
bustling summer excitement
always written to precede
the forward-looking days
of winter's introspection
ordained as it was
by the dictums of old
those of time and tide
instead her blooming
has been a wearisome
back-and-forth between
the extremes of each
untimely and unexpected
yet unfortunately necessary
before she might witness
those flowers of hers
blossoming under
the warmth and light
of that newly shining Sun