Quick frissons of joy, like a harpist
on the planck scale.
The sun is out. All has
tunneled into green. I am
an animal, after all, and so
like the lambs in my mother’s field
I want to kick up my heels.
Spring wilds through me—-my marrow
puts forth flowers. Gold and springwater.
A little easy dopamine,
honey-suckle sweet, and look, God’s
got nothing on me.