Springs

The fall comes after the rise
both its ending and start.
We see it happen,
time and again,
and again,
and again.
We see the heights
from which
we tumble down,
and each landing
makes us ache:
not from the pain,
but from desire.
Rising from the deeps,
we sate ourselves
on the feasts
of the longing
and let our lusts
for the sky
drift,
ashes in the wind.
And so it is only
in the fall
that we truly see
the spring.