or, that day could still be weeks away.
the problem is what to celebrate:
the slow greening of grass and trees,
the incremental lengthening of days, and
the big, blue expanse of sky;
awakening to each new day,
the softness of skin after a long bath,
the way your lover dances late at night.
there’s a trick i’m learning to do:
to turn my mind to embrace hope,
to whisper words of life over you,
to find some way to speak of destiny
and walk towards the horizon.
birds fill the evening sky, descend
into the weave of branches
as night approaches, the song rises
into the air, rising and falling,
a murmuration of joy, a wildness
poorly and quietly expressed,
gathered to the chest, like a breathdrawn in gently before reading a poem.