Things I Forget Until Springtime

MG + AG
Here’s to your love, MG + AG

I forget things until springtime.

The roar of fresh leaves, the frail gesture of petals, the blue cruise of clouds, the tickle of little bugs.
The way sun smells on warm rock under the liquid
power of cool light.

The lifelift that love is.

The way poems make sense, only the ones about filling and cracking and
opening

into bugs and petals
and clouds.

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