The Thought of May

the earth is receding past
my window, past my shoulders.
this reduction of rayless cold
seems collapsing into itself,
bringing a ripened expansion.

we can see ahead, the flowering
growth–the earth leaving inky
footprints, black like salacious stories;
tangerine like burnt sugar.
i am stretching outward,
as if to tag along with the
markings it leaves behind.

we are mirror-like in our design,
our compulsion to leave behind
this home. this approaching
migration, a horrifying flower;
alluring in its potential and
devastating in its dissolution.


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