I'm all awash in a false sort of spring,

As lowly as the water I stomp,

As loud as strong as the warming winds.

Each moment becomes the last, I want

to feel to fuck to fight to burn

against my skin.

This is the mania of spring again, Can you keep up?

I'm okay with a few bridges burning;

I've been the student of gossip all the snowy days

and watched the subtle words of arm brushing arm in classrooms

And now they burst into sex and spring as I watch.

Let's sing some things loud and out of tune,

feel the tiny gestures only for their worth against the large-written words

Of Chinook and early thaw.