Blossoming: a love poem
04/08/80
I noticed Spring today,
its green stubble showing
after a long winter of not shaving.
Soon the bare branches will fill
and the sky will grow heavy with green.
I love the Spring,
but it is a private love,
something that stirs inside my bones,
shiveres in my spine,
and vibrates my fingers.
It embraces me in the morning
and holds me in its arms,
as if I too was a bare branch
waiting to bloom,
to blossom into something more than I am.
My flower is a smile,
my rain is you.
Feed me.