Not counting the years as months any more but
as days, hours, a rainy Spring day filled with memories
of literally thousands of rainy Spring days, figuring
I’ve been around for twenty-five thousand two hundred
and eighty days, Chicago Springs and Valencia
(Spain) Springs, Lima Springs, Paris Springs, wanting to
bring them all back with all the faces, legs, voices,
a big, hugging hurrah that never stops, my idea of
beatific visioned
foreverness.