don’t we all desire weightlessness?

and doesn’t weightlessness come

blooming with spring?

think. petals thin

more delicate than the membranes

enveloping our softest

thoughts, above, all

above drifting to bless

the crowns of our heavy heads

with the gentlest gale—

growth pushing

gravity wayside,

early sprigs—

drafting a season

of permanence, we have not reached

skyward, yet.

haven’t felt the press

of heat, still

floating in limerence,

first iterations of song—

birdsong—first

wings rupturing cocoons,

curious newborn bugs

taste the sweet air

and we, our solid bodies,

our grounded forms,

are granted momentary

respite,

we are allowed this impermanent

season of weightlessness

because? gracious

mother? or do we, briefly,

desire, so we accept

lightened souls, the very same

we stow, drag through transitory

seasons, and for this

stretch, weeks of sweet air,

we embody spring’s lack

of permanence?

we observe the delicate, become

the delicate

blooms. desiring weightlessness.