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You know it is springtime
when you are racing with little ants
To be first to pick up the small piece of apple
That has fallen to the floor
In your kitchen
And you say, “What the hell,
Let them have it.”
And they do
An entire conga line of ants
Alerted to the apple
And its moist atomic emissions, 
"Seen" in the minds of ants
Like a flashing billboard reading, 
“Take me.  Eat me.  Take me.  Eat me.” 
And they do,
Turning the flesh of apples
Into the DNA of ants
Into the minds and hearts of ants
Pulsing with pleasure
Walking to their own musical anthems
Even gliding at times across the keyboard of your computer
Stopping at the letters they love most
Bouncing up and down on the selected keys
Trying to get their message out 
beyond the season of ants and apples
Through to you.