the crickets have returned with arrhythmic, staccato bleating into the warm evening air like a panic. so warm I’ve turned off the heat in my home. all wakings these mornings full of birdsong. this classroom a traffic of twittering teens, surrounded by cheeps chirping in trees. bright blooms in the desert cry joyous blush and regal hues. raucous little celebrations scattered among the greys and khaki rock. spring might as well be screaming: come play

she picks me up from work to get boba tea where we discuss all the feelings in utter safety and when she drops me off again we say “I love you.” I am astounded once again by the succor of the quotidian: any every thing shared is precious, priceless. as our lonely society beckons without warmth, disappoints without fail. as the brutality threatens to callous all hands. let us hold each other’s. let us drink tea

I just bumped my scraped-up shin on the edge of the bed, tumbling in like “ouch” only to land on my truly banged-up elbow from whence with a “fuck!” I rolled onto my bruised shoulder like “you’ve gotta be kidding oww!” now sitting back up I lean my hand onto my ankle only to gasp at a new tenderness. what a sport.