(the kindest month)
A quick, white crocus, a breath of green
And the opening up of the sky again.
The sun shines through my window, your face before me.
My finger taps a ripple on the lake, plays the waters.
Light warms the water gently, yellow as your hair
Palms turn out to me
Your fingers are petals.
Roses are blooming, but I pick a daisy
Gingerly, its delicate petals
Soft in my hands.
Go gently, now
And let yourself bloom up, ready to melt
When the sun climbs higher.
Your smile widens– we've drunk up
Another, drier winter rock
The stone planted hard, greenest leaves unfurling upwards–
Yes, we've earned another April 3rd.
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