...When the Seasons Change

The air that I breathe

It, and the sun against my

Skin.

The varying phase in which

The moon greets me,

And bids [me] farewell.

It’s as if I can always

Sense...

The feeling that comes over me

In my heart

My gut

My mind

My soul;

An omen

Ineffable.

It’s as if I can always

Sense...

The stereotypical joy

That accompanies its

Arrival

Seems to never arrive in me.

And yet

It’s as if I can always

Sense...