I’m blind to the wretched nature
of the world,
ignorant to the ugliness
that grows within man’s soul.

I speak with the confidence
of firstborn summer leaves,
blissfully unaware
of the killer cold
and the orange purge.

I dream of intimacy
and blind love.
And I treat myself
to faint glimpses of joy and hope.

Like the soldier dampening Christ’s limps
with scarlet tears
amidst the promise of coming grief.
Like chasing rain clouds
so I may forever hold spring captive.