the seasons of the heart

when does spring arrive,
or winter?
what wakes up
the sprigs sprouting
inside an untamed silence?
what stirs up the nests
of starlings murmuring
a changing song?
what tosses up the sweetness
of invisible wild flowers
through the breath breaking out or in?
what eats up the shriveled
dead stems and roots
that have lived out their lives?
what lets the rain flow
into the curving rivers of longing,
always seeking the distant seas?
what fills up these forms
and the dark corners hidden,
with earth-loads of light and warmth?
what nudges the turning
of my heart and yours,
waking up to every season
with fresh drumbeats?
the heart has its seasons
that must be lived,
not passed.