Spring. . .

so green. . .
so sharp. . .
so fresh. . .

it comes up strong
the grass grows tall,
as its green blood
flows and rises to he call,

through keen-edged blades
that shine back much
of the climbing sun they take
and cut their way
through long-stored
hoards of stuff that snakes
through sluggish flesh. . .

to wake you
from your quiet comfort zone,
and make you move
in an upward groove
that makes you smile,

but takes your normal style
turns it on its head,
and spills you up
anew
on this year’s feet,
to walk
a different mile,

which draws
your secret, untapped stores
right to the fore,

and puts
your whole self,
+++++straight down to its inner core,
+++++into the rush of spring’s swelled stream
+++++that hairpin-flexes right and left
+++++with strength
+++++and love,
to its very toughest test.