This morning, sunshine
beams un-self-consciously
crashing violently against darkness
Springtime
does not mean any offense,
did not intend to
interrupt despair
contradict anxiety.
Audacious.
She cannot help herself.
Springtime
expands and
protrudes and
infiltrates
where she has not been invited
with light and
color and
sound.
Like a child too eager to realize she’s shrieking
Springtime declares herself
railroading over misery
interrupting us;
we,
who cannot find a way out of death.
This morning, hope
always just out of view
bombards me violently.
