You left a trail of breadcrumbs
That would lead back to you
Hungry little bird that I am
I ate them one and all.
Every one led me back to you.

You make me ashamed
to ever write a line
and call it poetry.

Exquisitely, you drag
my heart from my chest
caress and replace,

Forever enhanced,
improved, and more pliable
at the experience.

When does your spring come,
Calendar Slave?  Only once a year?

Listen to this precious secret of life:

When true to your authentic self
Spring can come every day.

You are frozen in time,
As though a bug in amber.

Awaken from your slumber
Before you run out of rhyme.

For Rumi us reminded to awaken!
Dawn's breeze is not to be forsaken

Because it has secrets to tell you.

Roethke said
That deep in the roots of flowers
Sunlight is kept. It is their sweet secret.
Truly we will reap what we sow, thus
Make your garden filled with light & love.

You wild thing,
You spread your wings,
As you flutteringly fly away

Sunlight strikes your feathers.
And in such lovely weather
You shine like day.

To smell the lilacs in first morning light
Dew descending and shaking free from the tree
Splashing sweet infusions and splattering on me.

Even the fog rising is perfumed.
Fists full, I make my way back inside to find a vase.
A home perfumed by wafts of flowers is a heavenly abode.

It is a beautiful notion, but lilacs don't actually grow here.