Sometimes it’s like this:

Stripped down, bare bones. Handfuls of dirt, clinging to the earth.

Bold propositions. Expectant, waiting.

I know the news is coming.

Waiting.

Waiting for a pulse. 

Springtime, I know you're there, though my body is still catching up to you.

My skin is aware of the light, while my soul has been stripped to bare bones. 

I must tap the well and drink - of the water that Feeds me.

I know the puddle on the floor.

Right now, I am able to notice how elevated I feel in the chair just above it.

Somehow the fire has graced me with just enough will to sit upright, drawn to its warmth.

Is that dawn, just on the horizon?