Hatchling Moon

I am singed—as in burned—

by the radiance of spring

our circle of longing

menstrual red

drift of pollen

sizzle of insects

drizzle of out sex

this lust for sky

a dance of world-building

here is how it is

we the people dream

sensitive & wise

who notice climate changes

raise our young to see

listen

sing

know

wildflowers

in the thalweg