Dissolution

The frost retreats in gossamer veins, silver unspooling from the grass— each blade reclaiming its own weight.

I watch the world soften. Where ice held dominion, the earth now breathes, and I feel it rising through my ribs like a bell struck hollow.

Nothing rushes, yet everything bends toward green. The air tastes of water and waiting, of thresholds crossed in the dark.

I am small here, witnessing the persistent ache of becoming, the way a season shrugs off its armor and steps, naked, into light.