A Seed I Planted Last Year Will Sprout in The Spring

It’s freezing again.

Typing with cold fingers in the morning time, I am awake.

I am immersed in learning.

A seed I planted last year will sprout in the Spring.

Pinecones hold the sun at the top of the trees.

The trash man will come today.

Inside sun warms me.

I am treading words.

Sentences strung together opening in all directions.

I bow down, my head supported by the floor, my arms stretched out.

I breathe.

Remain here, breathing.

I woke before the sun.

I have already begun to sing.

Light dances on the walls.

I am doing math, inching closer to probabilities.

I create patterns of desire.

Draw lines where others have met failure or welcomed success.

I feed the fire.

We formulate questions we answer in multiple spaces.

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