May is most
too awfully grand
for this birdsung
treebreezed
dewdazzled
man.
All winter I worked
freeze-dried and
to the world dead
in my closed-up
house
until this annual
now, when May
gives me to
inhale vigor's gist
from its generous
air.
Today I've opened
windows and doors
to let livingness in
and release husks of
flies and moths and
thoughts.
My breathing replete
with May's mixed balm
of aromatic everyness,
I've fallen again fully
open.
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