SPRING

Only weather, never the same,
no shape, no edge, no final form.

A current moving through the ground,
low and humming, without sound.

The earth remembers how to lean,
from winter’s weight into green.

Not arrival, only return.

The soil forgets its frozen past,
slowly breaking, vast.

Rain remembers how to fall,
not loss but answering call.

The land rises without command,
becoming what it understands.

Frost yields without a sound,
no witness left upon the ground.

Everything held begins to turn,
into what the light must learn.

I do not stand outside the burn,
I am the turning, I am return.