EARLY SUMMER

When I see the spring sun,

the everything fruit-bearing blooming, joy

climbs up my throat to rest where I imagine a hairball

would rest.

It feels good. It feels great!

but it feels like it is growing, and it feels like I may

not be able to accommodate it or like I'm

on the edge of orgasm or

on the edge of sneezing, but

There's no orgasm in the trees;

there's no sneeze

on the breeze.