Spring

generations to come set to music not yet written
futures you could not imagine for yourself
curled against your bedroom door
you are weighted

possibility is fickle and eludes you
but you stretch your fingers anyway
searching for her hair, for solid things
on which to build your sand castle

there were always shadows
with every twitch of the clock's hands
new monsters have been born
and you have named each one

but there is light in you
your cataracts are too thick to see it
sleeping buds between knuckle bones
and weekends to rest, and stories

more stories than you can count
they will pour from your mouth
and from your hands and feet
you will become a love story

generations to come will graze your pages
as music plays, a melody you once sang
curled against your bedroom door
waiting for Spring to come