watching a grapevine breath.
it adds the green leaves on
in early spring.
they spring to life, from
small pink bulbs that set in
right after the frigidness of
the dark of winter. right after.
her first leaves are a dark green,
they bleed the new life out.
she takes a breath in and
pushes tiny buds out.
the smallest of richest grapes
begin to show up and you begin
to prepare for the harvest.
the breath quickens as the fruits go from green
to some darker tones.
each one, takes its own journey to ripe.
she fans the fire of life
with another breath.
the true dark of US pops out
and you smell her.
she sighs as her fruits begin to drop
and be cut.
the release of the weight of things,
of last spring, she now
desires to be free of.
she breaths in again,
deeply
and her first leaves turn brown.
starting at the tip, the chlorophyll races
in to the clouds.
the yellowing, spotting,
a breath to release the past.
there are still many yet,
I watch her breath.