It’s late April
spring is in full swing
bursting with life
the tree lifts its arms,
waves across the field,
its leaves full of light
flutter in perfect rhythm
with the wind.

The train is leaving the station
the years gathering toward my finish line.
Each season a child frantically
waving at his grandpa
as if to whimper
this might be the last time.

To write words over and over
To explain what it feels to love you
To express what you mean to me

No words can be enough for that
And so I always end up erasing them

When I say
that you are my Sun,
I don’t mean that you are
Luminous,
Brilliant,
Gilded,
Beautiful,
Bold,
Warm,
Or even the center of my universe.
I simply mean that
I cannot look at you
Without hurting

This is one for the standing trees
Staying put so that life can breathe, but
When we take more than what we need,
it isn’t fair

We are here we are alive
On this earth,
Made to do more than survive
It’s our turn

And while women her age
walk down the aisles
teary-eyed in veils and flow'rs
adoring flashes wishes them the best,

she confidently ramps
along wide-eyed crowd
wishing they have
what she boldly has-