Poem I'd thought I'd lost

For Seasons


Spring says it loves me.

Carelessly, flinging words around, confetti made from a dictionary--
Everyone
says I love you
but Spring says it with a kiss, and a yawn
just before falling into a sleepy nap.


Summer doesn't care.
Stay . . . ?
. . . go . . . .
Dark indolence
and torpor so bright it could blind you
Summer stretches in the backyard, and lives forever.


Autumn wakes me up,
wants to show me things--
how blue the sky is, and how high!
How flamboyant the leaves are-- I made that!
And this-- and this!
And I can pretend to be spring: see the sunshine? See the lilacs?
"These," Autumn tells me, "are just for you."


Winter wants to kill me.

Very patiently waiting outside my door,
very old.
Some unsuspecting moment
some cold, dark morning
it will leave me somewhere,
my ankle broken, or maybe my head gashed--
not dead, but dying.
And Winter won't even stay to watch.