One morning,
When the sky seemed to be falling,
And rolled around the swirling grey fog,
I stepped out with my eyes, and saw
The most hopeful green peeking from the mud,
the rain poured into the rich earth,
The dark soil ready to take in more life,
It smelled alive, the rain tasted like hope
And that small green became the world
When I smiled at it, and it smiled back.

we are blossoming now.
scarlet petals unfurling;
revealing our golden hearts.

and i want you to know
that my love grows best
when its roots entwine with yours.

I will be the gladdest thing
  Under the sun!
I will touch a hundred flowers
  And not pick one.

I will look at cliffs and clouds
  With quiet eyes,
Watch the wind bow down the grass,
  And the grass rise.

And when lights begin to show
  Up from the town,
I will mark which must be mine,
  And then start down!

‘When I was just as far as I could walk
From here today,
There was an hour
All still
When leaning with my head again a flower
I heard you talk.
Don’t say I didn’t, for I heard you say—
You spoke from that flower on the window sill—
Do you remember what it was you said?’

‘First tell me what it was you thought you heard.’

‘Having found the flower and driven a bee away,
I leaned on my head
And holding by the stalk,
I listened and I thought I caught the word—
What was it?  Did you call me by my name?
Or did you say—
Someone said “Come”—I heard it as I bowed.’

‘I may have thought as much, but not aloud.’

“Well, so I came.’

your laugh , like the early white
of Dogwoods in March, gently
chiding the naked oaks,
or elms falsely wearing the purple
wisteria dresses for the spring ball.
Your smile ,  like the spring sun
dancing off every bloom
a true sight this year , this day,
I gain again.

you must have a mind of grace
to wildflowers in winter see
touch softly and kiss these
not waves, but small tastes
not dreams in empty mass
but humbling feats
unexpected, sudden sweet
apparitions by rocky pass

She sat there alone and cold and naked
I picked her up
Put her in a jar
I really didint think
The little sun flower
Would make it

sometimes,
often times,
i am cold.
there is snow within me and wild winds outside my door,
and i watch from the window while my crops wither.

i silence the sun.

he stands at my gate with nimble fingers and begs to be let in,
but i have always been a grove of shadows,
and he knows there is no space for him.

sometimes,
often times,
i am cold.

but other times,
spring finds me.
it lifts me up into its gentle arms and suddenly i am a field of clovers,
lucky,
rising up.
suddenly i am baby’s breath, i am pure,
i am a blooming hyacinth.

i am warm.

i know what a change in season feels like.

and i try to be loving.
but on the days when i have gotten up
and planted my seeds,
you are still tangled in thick black weeds and roots.
on the days when i am a rose,
you are the thorns,
and on the days when i grant the sun a chance to speak,
you take his tongue.

i know your pain; i have lived it.
but i will not give up my songbirds just because you are only left with crows.

i know what a change in season feels like,
but you are always winter.
and sometimes, i am spring.

so i will flourish.
and i am sorry.

(a.m.)