Spring Haze
counting on it all
coming back around
like strewn seeds
the dandelion fields
hold splendor
& the May sky speaks
she reaches for the last
bit of marrow in the twilight,
by dawn she’ll be
a withered sparrow,
face kissed by moth wings,
swimming in dew drops
on the back lawn,
still inhaling
the magic of the night
before the sensation
of apathy took hold,
after the numbness returned
rinse & repeat, like seasons,
like recycled trauma,
waiting for the last
exhalation before
facing a sun beam
head on, squinting
to see oblivion
in the bottom of the bottle,
in the clear light of everything
Thistle Thoughts 