herald to spring

finding no glory or victory in the news channels,earth/sprung

triumph out of her own breast/earth sprung up

stillness & the smell of goodgooddirt/earth

sprung

the sunsprung leaves/bled/mud in gratitude.

flies, it seemed, came out of nowhere, & found their own favorite circles of air still waiting to be

glid on.

the world bled mud for gratitude

O sweet spontaneous earth

i thought to have seen more children than did show

laughing in the  blidmud/but

i suppose

there were lessons to be learned in desks

& when they come out again, it will be raining.

it's such

it's such

a perfect day

while the earth bled bliss in the blidmud and the sky

kissed the cloud on the cheek like thinking & the mud

sprung up blud into the above & the air

smelled like dirt-likegooddirt

there didn't need to be trumpets

there didn't need to be parades. there didn't even need 

to be flower/s, even,/yet.

& it's spring

glorious is, is, only when the earth had decided to spring the sun

& the sprung sun spun the world to special

& sprinkled sparks &

strummed our chords in all the simplest, in all the right ways.

(go back & just do that C major, don't

fancify just play us some

completion)

glorious is flies.

& here i lie

on my own in a separate sky

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