spring runs down from the mountains
in leaping rivulets of muddy water,
the red earth dark as blood with running.
flowers fountain down behind the springing water,
tumbling in wild falls of color.
at the base of the mountains,
collecting in pools and leafy groves,
summer gathers and begins her long silken ascent,
fingering each budding flower,
each leaf of every tree, on her way up the slopes.
along the way, she’ll slip a slender finger inside you
and rub your spirit till you’re wide awake with yearning
wet as rain, wet as springtime snowmelt
pouring down from the blossoming mountains.