The Mists of May

Dear May,


winter went to rest, and the world is
pregnant with your sticky fog.
the tip-tap of falling dew on glistening leaves
is the forest’s code
and we are the invading force.
war is brewing.
it’s a war of sex and survival,
but, for now, we drink the air with ecstasy.
molecules of water and pollen
fill our lungs and voices
and we can’t help but sing along to the fanfare,
to the ceaseless march of life.