Poetry / Wishing Well

In the pale brightness of spring

It feels like the whole world is blushing

Feverish from grass so green it makes people queasy

After the blinding purity of winter white

Time slides like coins through fingers

Slipping into wishing wells

As we bathe in sliced seconds

And you rinse salt and sand from your hair with pollinated minutes

Under showers of sunlight

Curl up in these moments

Amorphous in their consistency

Winter ice thawed to dew drops

Luke warm and lush under the full moon