The Bottom

"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.

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