Forty Six
I itch for summer’s blinding sun
I pine to hide in leaves
to shroud myself deep in snow drifts
buried deep from my thieves
the tulips and the breeze
spring thus demands an audience
with all its certainty
the taffy pull
there's a point when you've pulled the taffy too far it's thin and frail threadbare more hole than lace it's narrow and wispy spider-webby a dandelion seed in the wind try to catch it with your tongue lick lick lick fruitlessly at the air like a blind dog all you taste is a glimpse of sweetness as it wafts away