.
In house made warm letters run,
Bright poems let, in winter sun—
The dreams of day a lively school,
As songbirds gleam at vernal pools,
Apparitions of youth— fly in and go,
A love blew held in wings, undertow,
Little things now steeping with peace,
Cloudy thoughts set aflame, released,
A lost woman revisioned— unknown,
Is conjured, screening real as a poem.

taking things at a pace
allowing a flower to unfold

waiting for full bloom
to happen
in its own time

to not pre-empt
not to fizzle out

the wonders of a Universe
in the palm of your hand.