Clearing the harshly calm, gray, shallow, stitched shadows of winter
on the pillow. Shining its light through the window  
spring is almost here to nest love  
not even slightly grasping the end     
or hearing the lonely, silent, detached murmurs of a mourned love

Springing from the pure and transcendent serendipity of love 
I have embroidered fancy, needlepoint stitches of you
on the clear canvas, twining the shadows of you with the most beautiful colored yarns
to nest my love under spring waters and bird nests

Shadowing my way towards you 
death is stitched to my soul with a hundred nettle rash like needle stings
to nest my sorrow under my heavy heart aching despite the spring
clearly singing a love sonata about a flaming red, bleeding heart flower sewed on a weary, withering woman’s chest 

On the chamomiles, poppies, and beautiful roses embellished quilt  
here you and I nest
and finally, rest  
when we have a bitter, sharp stitch in our hearts
having seen the dreadful, deadly, and dark shadow selves
repressed fears, tears, and spears ****** our souls
through cluttered sorrows under the semi-stitched garments 
Even the clear spring nor any other magic can possibly unclog