Coppice

Overwhelmed with visual information and flooded
over my eyes up into hairlines through follicles
lapping at the connections between sleep and not
lying where I fell and decomposing amongst
last year's hazel nuts left hollow by jays or
squirrels smelling rich and rotten between annual strata
of leaves fallen and lifted, levitating upon the points of
bluebell stalks.

First to feel the primrose bloom, growing like an emotion
between my shoulder blades don't move, don't move
all moments pass and this will pass too soon
in a coppice in company with spring.