On swallows and spring

Don’t be too hard on a hesitating sun, you too
would feel the exhaustion of endlessly having to
pose for pictures, right when you feel most
vulnerable, cheeks all flustered and
wishing the ground would swallow you whole.
That one swallow might not a summer make
but the light by now has nested firmly
behind our collarbones
and so the sun makes his way up the
clifftops of our flustered cheeks
out of the slumber
into the blue
  together we dig a hole in the earth
  we bury the red
  we bury the red we do not doubt it will
  grow again on darker moments and that is ok
  but now
out of the slumber
into the blue
  the light climbs pulling the curtains the
  eyelashes aside
  and there, overlooking the valley of hibernation
  his kingdom of winter desolation
he stretches himself out and grins.
It’s great to be back.