The frost is still there,
Throttling the rhododendron leaf,
And ice stalls the dissolve
Of the stone-like snow,
Yet I am happy.

The sun-rays are almost Etruscan,
Filtered low through lace and blind,
Like that ***** of sunset on Irene’s hair
Sad “couleur de feuille-morte”.
Yet it is sultry.

I can open a window
And breathe the warming air
Finches flock close, careless,
Now desperate for food
And pluck menescent fruit
Off an ice-bound branch.
In the distance, a cardinal sings.

Thick drapes are drawn aside
And geraniums strain toward the light.
In a nook outside the door,
An old cat basks on a corner of sun.
He yawns, seeing me, and strolls across the snow.

All nature seems to wait, but poised,
For the final unfettered token.
Will it be a sudden, favonian breeze?
Or the robin’s unrelenting noise?
Telling us, “Winter is broken”?

reality is funny
allowing our minds to swim
into storms of our dreams
just to shake our hearts
with thunder

our Love starts to flow
bursting from under
all we could have been
with them

and as soon as we begin
to summon our whim
it’s pulled out from under
our feet

and it feels like it all
could be falling apart
in the ocean they left
that keeps *******
our heart

but then we remember
that we have a choice
an option to own
in the depths of
our bones

that we don’t have to drown
in the leftover uncertainty
that we don’t have to sink
in the unknown
they loaned

because we were gifted
our own four limbs
and born with the skin
to swim out
alone

Breeze flowing gently;
The waterfall cascades down;
I feel at peace here.

Sun is trying to peep through the clouds,
breeze is there, without making a sound;
There is light spreading all around,
but the rainy clouds will start to astound.
This nature spell will keep you bound,
so you better stay firm and not swound.

The world alone is not enough
        It was never a shade of me

Though from the earth, the straw men rise and fall
        There also blows the breeze
        More beautiful than all once seen

Sometimes the day smiles
shows me its colour.
No, then the wild blue yonder
doesn’t look to be far
I feel like I got the wings to fly.

But who would sway away
when the rose under the nose
floating on a sea of colour?

The luminary punter too
drops down from the sky.
Paints the broad daylight
as it sails down on its silky way.

Ah, the southern breeze
bends with the rose of the day
peeps in the colour before my eyes.
I could only see missing my butterfly.