winter is a solipsistnit can’t believe that spring existsnthat’s a song I tried to startnbut never could completenuntil nownnI’ve feel the downpour, the flash flood, the end of a dry spellnup to my hips in the warm mud where no flowers grewnbut now they donnBas Jan Ader went to seansearching for the mysterynthe page on which I wrote that partnwas crumpled in defeat (until now)nnI feel the ice break, the dam burst, the end of a dry spellnand as the fields slake an old thirst and growth starts anewnI tip my head back and drink well, the pen and the inkwellnare full of younI feel the pull of younthe fount of younit’s on account of you