I wake in the night having dreams of words. When I get up they fall on to the sheet, slide to the floor, and pass through the pine boards. They were something like, but much better than, these:
Walk outdoors.
Listen
and watch for bulbs and seeds cracking,
for banners on green poles rushing
toward sky and sun.
Breathe
and taste lilac, poppies, asparagus.
Emerge from winter squinting
and sniffing the air.
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