Like the first bird

Black syntax filled me on the third day. Children are talking about trash and heart chocolate.

There was laughter but no one heard it.

Winter gave its last f, handing me a soft blanket, a reminder of beauty sprung. It was desperate, showing off, building up.
Morning broke.

I think I lost the game for us but I can’t remember. I just whispered tell me to go to.

Every time I hear Spanish, I get sad.

The turf came apart and clumped together, soft black mounds in the white and green. Fake soil peppered my feet and shoulders. It didn’t feel cold. I wanted to gather.

How do you say, I want to run to you, too?

This morning it snowed on the first day of spring.