Saturday, April 27, 2013

seasonal leanings

anguish comes, abrupt with fire,
yet remains nascent in seasonal leanings
towards light

we are stilled by what has passed
before our eyes, unopened

we are bestowed by beauty,
ripened by her quiet touch

caterpillars cannot imagine such rapture, 
what may rise from innocent dreaming,
what visions may beckon 
from following their small paths of leaves,
their appetites both delicate and voracious

once defined by our gifts and misgivings,
we look not ahead but behind,
our wings stiffened by an ache of remembrance

little rivers flow slowly from our bent fingers,
reaching for an ocean we cannot see - 
we can only believe it is there, waiting
for waves' swift, determined return to shore