At Spring’s Break

After great pain, a formal feeling comes

Nerves sit ceremonious, like Tombs

The stiff Heart questions will I ever be light again?

Am I good enough, or good at all?

Will the sun warm my insides bright and kind?

The Feet, mechanical, go round

right, left, right, left

the tiny hand on a clock ticking

without force,

gravity grounding each firmly forward

introducing the teeny possibility of hope.

This is the Hour of Lead

Remembered,

As Freezing persons, recollect the Snow

First

Chill

then Stupor

then the letting go

Like a paper boat

gently blowing down the pond

the feeling melts

as slow and as quick as ice

at spring’s break.

Day 5 NaPoWriMo 2015