Slow moon on a windy night, and May
Rising in a hormone harmony,

In a wave of snakes sliding out from
Their small warm holes, tongues sniffing the dark.

In some unseen tree, a bird opens up
Its artery of song, soundtrack to the season.

Spring's on a binge, wild and primitive
As cousins from a land of hills and hollers

And hog lard for the elderberry pie.
Juiced with sap, the new air pours

Over me like sour mash on cracked ice.
I sip and sigh and settle in.

Illustration by Blair Thornley