Spring

His hands will slam the windows in the early hours

of birds, who’s season has arrived.

Just in time to multiply, he’ll see

the bright blue eggs in the trees that shade him

from the reborn sun and thawed out rain.

Summer

Chemicals and sunscreen will be her new shampoo and soap.

She’ll strip off the fabric to flaunt the glowing sun on her skin.

Front porches and night air to cool off when

not even shorts and cut-offs do their job.

She’ll stay awake just to hear the storms and

the silence, because time stops for the young.

Fall

He’ll take walks atop the blankets of auburn,

flaming leaves, and beneath the blankets of chilled wind.

Listening to his favorite poets and picking up

on his favorite past-times with a side of hot chocolate.

Blanketing himself, beneath nostalgic quiet and peace.

Winter

She goes to bed under seven quilts up to her shoulders and

past her curled toes. Waking but not wanting to wake,

not wanting to meet the chills on her skin when she

finally builds up the courage, to drag herself out the door,

out under the frostbitten sky.