Spring means hunting season.
There’s melancholy in wanting renewal.
The speed of our consumption now at sacrifice.
What we will remember depends on optics.
Are you reading from obligation or pleasure?
________ *** ________
One day the trees are barren,
next week our horizon is flush with new lines.
Will you help me memorize this transmigration—
its pools of light and their complimentary shadows?
As chemtrails thread the clouds, our one life continues
finding its way. Birdsong blasting around unpaved curves.
Cache Culture 