I’m moving.

I’ve found a little place in the Past,

It’s not much but I think it’s quite lovely, very dear,

And things aren’t working out Here,

So I’m settling for memories.

It’s temporary, I know,

It begins —

This thing call Spring —

With sunshine and birdsong

Slowly infused into everything.

It begins with

Deep brown rivers gauged in viscous dirt roads,

As the frozen ground thaws and overflows.

I painted my nails blue

because I couldn’t think what else to do 

to stop myself from thinking of you.

I didn’t realize until they dried,

it was the very color of your eyes: