.
Flail your gentle woes onto me,
And know that we will surely meet come Spring,
When the warmth calls again.
.
The soft caress of hill on sky,
The ease of soft grass,
The fetch of breeze on sun,
Releasing us from this torpid coil.
.
Count closely now,
Fingers won’t hold,
These tiny bits of air,
Teasing and sparkling,
Fluttering and moving,
Dancing to the new rhythm
Of a living sun.
.
I ask that we meet at the corner,
Where the long call of morning sits,
With flowering vines to hide us,
Scented in colors and closed eyes,
Wrapping us, curling us,
Pulling us into the stars above.
Shaken Rain 