We carry, each within us,
the bones of all our winters.
We know the stretch of branches
bereft, the lines burnt after
cascades of red and golden flames.
We recognize the powder
blue silence and the ash gray bark--
and carry them wrapped round and round,
cocooning marrow. Deep within,
that God-breathed ember licks the life
into our veins and wings a charm
of summers, evening watch of springs.
See winter bones sprout blossoms,
and burst and bud and spin down
pink maple helicopter wings!
Unclose your brushtip lashes--lift
The newborn eyes of your old soul.
the bones of all our winters.
We know the stretch of branches
bereft, the lines burnt after
cascades of red and golden flames.
We recognize the powder
blue silence and the ash gray bark--
and carry them wrapped round and round,
cocooning marrow. Deep within,
that God-breathed ember licks the life
into our veins and wings a charm
of summers, evening watch of springs.
See winter bones sprout blossoms,
and burst and bud and spin down
pink maple helicopter wings!
Unclose your brushtip lashes--lift
The newborn eyes of your old soul.
This poem has given an excellent start to my day. Thank you! I shall re-read, over coffee, of course! Suffice it to say that the alertness of your language and the wisdom of your perceptions are continually the cause of profoundest gratitude. (I cherish especially the sentence beginning "Deep within...")
ReplyDeleteYou're welcome, Thomas, and thank you for dropping by with such encouraging words! Regarding the sentence you mentioned, isn't it marvelous to wake up after a winter? Such an amazing thing . . .
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