swallowing of the rains

springtime came and went so fast
i barely had time to blend into the
cherry blossom trees, was almost unable
to twist up into the rhododendrons
or make love in the lilac bushes.

my mouth had longed to taste spring rain
but they always passed me by, just so,
slightly out of the reach of my teeth.
sometimes i forget the seasons shall change
with or without me, so i must in turn

slow my breathing, slow my body,
tie myself back in with early summer sunsets
ease my way to cricket noises in the trees
prepare to wrap myself in english roses
and endure the heat by the ocean’s edge.

soon autumn shall come and my bones will
turn red and orange and yellow and fall off,
and winter arrives again and my body
folds inwards inside itself. and springtime,
springtime, my darling,

my lover, she returns to me again,
and my body becomes whole in fields of lilies
and i shall take my time, this time,
in the ritual swallowing of the rains.

by mari jagt, 2018.
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