Come spring, our consciousness returns in tiered cascades of sunny days, spilling forth fluid tongues that polish our sense of place, amid the season’s changing pace…
Warming,
thawing,
spring awake,
innervating
winter’s
still facade,
a waterfall
rushes
at right
angles
atop
the washboard
of my forebrain
folds,
polishing
memory,
grey
and white
matter
absorbs
slick
bedrock
ricochets,
as turbid
tiers
topple
into
wet
thickets
of foam,
freshly
fevered
fists
flow
freely
in parallel,
a mist-mash
mounting
moss,
returning
our earthly
abode
anew, lush,
invigorated
causeways
crowning
an emerald
flush.
The ancient eavesdropper 
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