in Spring, we swell and pop
like buds on trees.
we burst in all directions,
a grenade under pressure
our debris lands in beds of dewy grass waiting patiently to incinerate.

this Spring we collect parts of the body like polished rocks on the river banks.
the hands, the mouth, and the tongue,
we are learning the ways they caress sweet words.
fruit trees blossom and so does the space behind our eyes.
we embrace intention the way we do loved ones,
transform silence into euphony,
we speak to braid our blades of grass so that we may grow,
intertwined.

Summer turns the saturation on high and burns bright
bursting, bubbling
we evaporate, liquid into gas
racing up to the highest places.
the climax is building–
the delirium,
oh,
the delirium!
we now understand
violent delights and violent ends.

Fall is the sinking, a wilting,
a deep breath that kisses the bottom of the lung,
we gulp Fall like cooled gooey sap,
thick swallows of nostalgia slipping down our throats.
Fall is the snake shedding,
its skin drying, crumbling in the browning leaves.

in Winter we speak of blankets,
but Winter is really the sharp sting of our heat biting the cold.
we are shocked into the space that our skins contain,
spaces Summer heat had our spirits transcend and thus
for months was briefly hollow. but
in Winter we return,
condense, melt
into our molds and set in them.
and just as we harden into the shape

Spring explodes!
and therefore, so must we.

bits of us all, our shells scattered everywhere
we pick up any pieces.