calyx
spring comes and the birds start singing
and that’s not poetry
it’s truth in a dress
made from hope and hybrid dancing
but we wear it on days
when the swamp
spills over
and
every tiny miracle
understands the word survival
and thrive becomes the promise
of tomorrow
less season
than rebirth
perhaps even
a holy transformation
or simply life
refusing
to go gently
but the birds learned all this
long before Plato
and that
in a word
is
poetry
spring comes and the birds start singing
.
.
.
