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 breath
drawn
in gently before reading a poem.
