Many months had whispered by
Unbeknownst to me
The sheaths of ice retreated slow,
And buds furled from the trees.

I had not stopped to grasp and hold
The notion laying stagnant
Within my chest, there thawing too
A sunken, fading, fragment

This withered seed, this dying shoot
Lay wilting in the dark
Until my sightless, bourbon eyes
Saw what was in my heart.