Spring

Dear fragile thing I found; you found me, too. 

Just put you back up there where I won't be tempted to examine too closely what we are made of and if it will freeze or snow before we do or you become what is required and then when we do whatever that thing is we won't know we were like bumblebees who shouldn't have flown but did anyway because we never stopped long enough to doubt that we couldn't be lifted buzzing toward the nectar of another flower talking sweet life, sweet abundant buzz and heft of each one of us being carried because I believe it has and will happen forever bloom that passes between us the pink echo of something planted and dark below us wanting to speak to birds.

Sweet and sincerely.