Passover.—I inhale the fragrance of my life, like rose petals lining cedar almost too much , how it bobs and weaves with others like lightning bugs flashing in green tinted canning jars –I just want to drink moonshine and sit and smoke but all those things are silly now so I plant rosemary,thyme sage and parsley knowing their pragmatic call in my kitchen—mostly I am lonely–listening to the wind in old pounded out trees by harries and big headed wood peckers filling the backdrop with a steady percussion I find just as sweet as the river –she rushes –catching light on her sinewy flanks rushing running she catches me in a sigh wanting to pocket this moment and the next quietly and stealth like— the sky she holds my imperfections in fact She causes me to look up and out– way beyond my own crumbling architecture-I don’t know what I love more the yellow marsh marigolds or my friend’s white beard –he looks like a franciscan monk these days but I still know the bright boy inside–All I did was talk of spring think of her warmth her color …but now I crave connection deep and real and spirit filled –My winter of my life is almost over so I find myself in spring again —coming back to people who I thought left me–yet we keep circling back catching each other ,laughing like pirates at our passed youth- still battling our throats to say it all- play it all- and do it all -like our words tumbling and falling intersecting rushing forward, a river of sound and light I wish I could pocket , instead always passing over