exchange number two

The sun is threatening
to burn away all that is
damp or heavy or tired.

It is dangerous to be
so naked and alone.
But we are never
alone. We act
in concert with spring
rising to melt
the cold sparrow

who records the to
and the from, all
our miscalculations—
crickets nearly crushed
underfoot, or a dream
washed neatly away,
but moving like water
trapped beneath ice.

And what is good?
The body needs the sun
and everything that burns.

Well, this is my second poem in this exchange and I'm tired of trying to suss out the source code required to align that last stanza with the rest. So, pretend it's in line with the other stanzas and therefore prettier. I give up.