Tuesday, May 21, 2013



Bare feet are numbed cold

Walking across the new grass,

And I’m chilled by cool, sun-lit air.

My pale winter skin shivers into gooseflesh–

I’m early for the season.

    If I stop moving, face sunward, and breathe,

I can feel the soft soil beneath my feet, warming,

And my shirt heating.

My closed lids struggle to pinch out the too bright

Radiation, red from periphery to focus.

    Then a slight breeze freezes my hope

For an early change.

A quick step onto the stones

Baking beneath the young sky.

I look up again and squint at the offering.

                Let it burn sense into me.

-MBK, 2013

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