Spring Forth! But No, I'll Wait

Spring, so perfect in its liquid ramparts' chilled glare

as the

Sun in just days has grown strident-strong and full of song... 

(I want to, too.)

O, I will run and bike and stretch and dance my body for its anointed return,

Conditioning my heart, soul, sinews for the demands of this new reality, already BBQ-blazin'.

Out there in spring, I'll again turn from ghost-pale to fertile-brown; like snow to mud, I'll change.

So let me slog through those melt-topped raging ditches and slather all that warmth creamed with dreams of bursting daffodils and robins' frantic songs thickly upon my thirsty skin, too long packed dry in turtlenecks; too long bound in unyielding leather and itchy wool.

So long awaited, spring: Anoint my whole body, as I'll twist into that stark light and fall, and wrap, wrapping and shimmer, simmer until it all blisters. 

So long have we awaited the thaw, the green spiraling slivers of promise, still shy. Those songs, those tufts soon will burst into life, cacaphonistrophic in hue and tone.

So long, have we waited -- as winds, vicious ice-pricks, lashed and skewered us us onto too many too-dark too-long nights. 

Now the sun is keenly obscene in its preteen temptations and teases;  its simmering sensual promises that reek of begetting and begotten, more, more, more... and more!

But, wait!  I, squinting in this fertile spotlight, its warmth so mammary-maternal, yet somehow so syrupy sinister, its dance so crazed, 

Yes: I will wait. 

Ah, for now, I'd rather be still in my still-chilled room, 

(Yes: Draw the thick, dark curtain there; close the sash to all that is rash--)

For now, I will wait until I can unfreeze, reborn, refresh -- what ever --- to play, run like I should, until my eyes can open.

So wait, Sun-son, for now, I tarry, simply old, safe in the familiar, huddled still in the chill, cowered into the slowed dark that has enveloped me, us all, for so long.

So wait with me (just a while), for some day spring-soon, when, just as the snow today spills wildly into something else that it becomes with earth, mud, 

I also will change some.

But for now, I will wonder whether I deserve this perfect spring... 

And I wonder, squinting... shivering, if it is.