What is spring but a knowing beyond reason that we are all going somewhere, after all;
That knowledge tucked into our pockets like lunch money, back when
We knew the world was bright and that we would survive, no matter what happened to anyone else beside us
Back when we were like marionettes hoping for the right hands to hold us

And now the green rises and the bright sun blooms over us, and all has become
The swelling of the gnats and of the dell below the hillside, with every deep down thing
Asking us, for God’s sake, to do something
To sing

The difference now is that our strings are cut
And we stand on our own in the bright pink morning, taking nothing for granted,
Mourning the passing of everything, with eyes which finally see:
How it all disappears beyond the horizon, and us, so soon, to follow  

Our song is part dirge now, like a constellation taking shape
And still there trills among it the high-pitched notes of gratitude, outstripped of words

We who have stood with loose feet and questioned through every turning if there is anything at all to stand upon
Find at last that grief and joy find their homes in one another
And give birth to the whole world, endlessly
Counting all the cost worth the loss, in every moment
Like sunlight that kisses the late October leaves

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