spring

We have reached the end of our long silence
I can feel sounds roll around the eggs in the nest
Waiting to poke through a soft part of the shell and
Break the sheath with their beaks.

We have reached
The downest of the descension
Of this particular curve.
I can't tell you how I know
Maybe it's the unbearable white air
That betrays a change coming.

Or maybe
I'm tired of this
Giant hole blown through me.

**