This is a time of blossoms.
Each day, a petal grows to hide the thorns.
The wind-kicked clouds cry onto the pavement
where people walked in groups
chattering just a few weeks ago.
The clatter and rumble of man’s progress replaced
as the thunder ricochets into the emptiness of night,
followed at dawn by singing birds
among our edifices
from their nests embedded in the steel and concrete.
Mountains breathe the clearing air in a respite
from our industriousness.
We mourn what we have lost,
both the temporary and the dear.
Yet as we cover our mouths in silence,
our eyes are open to see a blossoming world
giving so much in our absence.
a yawn inside a swirly snowy globe shaken,
then stared upon,
watchful of how the plastic snowflakes
settle in among the quilted covers,
some together, lovers;
others left alone asleep
when winter plunders, slows and crawls.
Seemingly coerced to follow
in the fleeting moments
of traveled icy squalls,
gloom hears a single sigh that calls.
Far below caressing snow,
undermining bitter loneliness,
a beauty-green that sleeps, a wondrous seed:
a genesis to one day rise, accede
with a petal, rediscovered in the spring.
and myths are bonded, converging so-
and make your garden grow.
for the words you breathe,
pronounce them, announce
their coming on the air,
project outward to the stars
on winter’s prelude
and follow them out,
moving in a waltz grazioso or
until the sun rises
and the songs of spring return.