hear

Spring scratching

softly at the door
like an old

vinyl record

releasing a tune
under the sharp

needle of the sun’s

beat.
The seasons have

torn through time’s

roughed-up asphalt,
&
now hear the hum

of Spring’s riding
and dust speck

and twilights
caught in the eye

pulling tears

out
and they grow

on the walls,

bare.
I hear

Spring on the run,

gotta hold on tight,

you know.
I hear

Spring humming

at the door,
pulling flowers

out of the cracks

in the wall.
I hear

Spring humming softly
a note

on the door.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

________________

Photo: Elif TIG ~ https://www.instagram.com/elif_tig/