9/18

last spring was
rich soil and flower buds and words like hope
blossoming on my tongue
time was patient, still
like a distant horizon, always out of reach and always more
than enough to run your fingers through -- like sand
on a beach
quiet as a stone on the shore
now time is loud and screaming
like an alarm clock bleating, constant as sand
disappearing through an hourglass
never enough
to run your fingers through
always slipping through
so much
like you
april showers bring may flowers
wilted now, oh well
I guess, but in my sleep it's always april
because
if any place on earth felt as warm
as your smile
I think I'd stay
forever