Each fall I’ve forgotten the darkness that shuts like jaws on a shark,
wet leaves like scales on the deck of a ship,
and the depths that we plunge each night in degrees.
I forget that each winter we’re led up a glacier, like babes
prehistoric and raw, and dumped alone at the mouth of a cave
to wait for the thaw, naked and blind.
When the spring uncoils like a green garden hose,
sprays us with light that shocks us to life
I recall in waves the rupture, the night light that shudders
and air too sheer, unbreathable. Birds throttle towards summer
in light, while humans succumb to spring’s cheating sun.
They trick me each year, these devious seasons.