Something sweet peppers the spring air 
like that perfect lemon tint 
that drapes itself over summer days,

unaware of the mental daze
brought on by winter coats
threatening to zip me out of this universe.

The fuzzy buds on the trees 
wiggle with the breeze, 
another sign of spring steeping,
luring the black-capped chickadees 
to sing of the coming sunny days

the kind that creeps into
the cracks of sidewalks,
tolerates the sounds of traffic
shoving themselves up against the bricks
of these mill buildings

and against my ribcage – 
I imagine the feeling of my tires 
gripping the dry highway 
but I’m somehow running barefoot 
galloping, gliding, gathering myself
shaking off the months of “no”
to slip on the “yes” months,
yes to lighter living 
yes to warmer days 
yes to the soft opening 
the yolk trickling 
of springtime serotonin.

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