finally spring (not a poem, words)

I think I smell the river, some form of g-d,
the night air's cold and smells of straw, mud and saffron I mistake for silt
rising up solid and murky, pulsing like it does
the half moon hung high in skinny blooming branches
I can feel everything,
reaching

* * *
Further proof: there was so much chest hair in my Sovereignty seminar yesterday.