Spring

The summer sun shines in my eye,
I wander out of my home for the rays otherwise shy;
The walls meet my palms with a rough handshake,
And the wind insists on brushing by.

You can see my eyes still shine,
And there is summer in my mind;
With one hand I work along the wall,
With the other I work on the railing three foot tall;
I pull a chair and use it as my ladder,
Simply to push myself a bit farther.

There is now winter in the arc of my feet,
That are cramped against the curved steel;
The spring has not reached a single bone,
Of my feet still numb with the winter cold.

The winter of my feet and the summer of my eyes,
Must indicate that spring is close by.

Now I am looking down
The length of the building,
And I stand on the railing
Against the wall unyielding.

While my heart pounds against my chest,
The breeze giggles and tries to calm;
I slowly detach from the wall –
A shivering, moist and fearful palm.

There is winter in my feet,
And summer in my eye,
It could be time for spring
To spring from the building to die, and fly.

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