Spring

The summer sun shines in my eye, I wander out of my home for the rays otherwise shy; The walls meet my palms with a rough handshake, And the wind insists on brushing by.

You can see my eyes still shine, And there is summer in my mind; With one hand I work along the wall, With the other I work on the railing three foot tall; I pull a chair and use it as my ladder, Simply to push myself a bit farther.

There is now winter in the arc of my feet, That are cramped against the curved steel; The spring has not reached a single bone, Of my feet still numb with the winter cold.

The winter of my feet and the summer of my eyes, Must indicate that spring is close by.

Now I am looking down The length of the building, And I stand on the railing Against the wall unyielding.

While my heart pounds against my chest, The breeze giggles and tries to calm; I slowly detach from the wall – A shivering, moist and fearful palm.

There is winter in my feet, And summer in my eye, It could be time for spring To spring from the building to die, and fly.