Morning bites the bones,
Hands seek the hot pockets,
Sun burns the screen hot red,
Don't look! 
It might leave a spot.

Half-eaten pizza slipping the blue screen,
Green matchsticks in the horizon, maybe 16 or 17.

In front of me, 
An icy mess fallen over the season,
Gravity my enemy,
Together they cover the mountain.

Life is a slippery slope,
Your body learns to say nope,
When thrown into this bloody ramp,
Alarms go off in no time.

Underneath the siren sounds,
Lies a truth so profound,
Feet learn to lean in,
Move the mind in kind.

Plowing the slope,
With slice and dice,
Curve and turn,
On pristine ice.

Such is the world in its naked light,
Born to understand the low and high,
None see the trails, as a mess,
Criss-cross, a holy dress.

For the grandest of adventures,
Lie thousands,
Of tiny pearls glistening,
Under the mighty sun.

Matchsticks light an inferno
On the pizza’s bottom,
Cooking it deep brown,
"Spring is here!"
Whistles the wind.