Everything is turning green again,
despite your best efforts
to burn,
and then, one morning, you realize
it is okay
to lay up your Winter weaponry,
the body armor, the swords,
the footwear, the eye protection,
the gloves, the neck protector,
and the long range sights
for good this time,
because,
biting into the tree bud and tasting
the milk means so much more than
it did, when you knew
it would be the last Spring
you ever tasted in that hell hole.
The crack of the sprig between your teeth
and the question mark
down your throat,
the thought that this might be
where I lay my head to rest for good,
is a thing, of itself, fantastic
to begin to imagine.
As everything turns green,
and the paranoia laced to the promise
new years bring, like Ahab to a whale found,
it comes on strong
everything grows calm and waits
for the sounds of morning birds
to translate from
Winter's hallucinations
to Summer's waking dream
with absolutely nothing in between
besides a little rainfall.
