"My melancholy was gold dust in your hands" -Alfonsina Storni
If there is only one way to go from here,
Can someone point me?
I think I am lost...
left and right aren't working
and the ground is too solid
my fingernails
too soiled
to dig any deeper.
i know there is a fifth direction around here, somewhere
another way this can go...
and while I am resolute in stillness
listening for a clue
keeping my nostrils open to smell
that pie in the sky
well, the shape of it is all muddy, murky
and monstrously cold.
no matter
i remember spring
soft baby birds with their gray-peach fuzz chirp...
the tender buds crystallized against mourning's do.
so i will get there,
wherever that fifth direction is,
because one season always follows another.
