Sky fleeting

opens eyes to sweep

tilling fields of the planting season.

The spring might tease the mind.

Waiting

watching the snows unwind.

Bicycles wish melt rubber on the asphalt,

smells of pollen, fresh release

puddles and rain tapped sills

the songs return,

we advocate

a challenging season.

Waiting,

watching tree limbs come to life again

buds waiting for a mist, a shower,

the nitrogen of a lightning storm,

long hard winter behind.

Imagine a hot horizon ahead

where skin will choose a bronze

beyond the pale shadows of a chilly memory.

Waiting

while we wander in grand scheme our mind.

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© Thom Amundsen 3/2022