someday you’ll open the door,

after a winter-ball of months

rolled up under the carpet comes

yardballing out across the floor –

you’ll open the door; you’ll see a field of

purple crocuses dancing on the hill.

you’ll see spring rooting through the soil –

pushing, baby-lunged and pregnant,

waiting to burst. the prenatal core of the

earth placenta-flooded and filled

with grass waiting to turn green

you’ll see, you’ll see; one day you’ll

open the door and spring will be staring

back like an anchor.

like a river. like something you can

wade in to/float along, swim down,

dive deep, dig wild

and wilder come back, old wild one

someday you’ll open the door;

you’ll see a field of purple

crocuses dancing on the hill