bedsheets and fuzzy focus
how many dreams were problems
how many problems were dreams
reality settles like feathers from a pillow fight
then a gust of goals raises all again
an open door into a hurricane
morning rustles,
like the other set of legs
that twine and squeeze, steal warmth
leave when still wanted, stay through
near cramp…
rustles
like the unknowable, chaff in windy winds
against the window ; reminding of spring
yet to be, to be soon, always too brief , and asks
did we plant flowers and good foods
trim and clean and rebuild a dilapidated...
fertilize and hoe, touch black soil and inhale
and remember
the Loves we have sent to ground
the Loves that made us, kept us to then
when love became a last spring
and springs began to
rustle…in slow
descent like the stuff of broken pillows
2 comments:
I love the beautiful imagery, I love Spring and I love everything about this piece.
Lynda
Thank you Lynda
we often do not get much of spring here, late and short, but there are parts of it that simply inspire--Thank you so much!...H
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