Second Chances

Photo by Tim Oun on Unsplash

When winds of spring whistle straight through your bones
and divebomb your soul like winds of war,

leaving behind cratered expectations,

you wish a different season would blow in,
launch a new offensive to bleach those bones,

grind and polish those bones until
they glow like laundered sheets on a line

so when the wind whips back around,
your bones may rise, dance, begin again.