The end of winter is our world letting out
a deep sigh of relief. We are permitted
to come alive again, our pain thawing
the earth bare. And I see it everywhere.
You have stumbled upon your smile again,
the one we must have misplaced under
piles of wool sweaters, or maybe beneath
the blankets of snow that never came,
forever heavy sky. But there it is— as new
as the first day of spring, peeking out
and budding, new life germinating
right there on your face. I want to throw
a carnival for you. Dance around maypoles,
letting colored ribbons fill the sky, around
and around until we’re dizzy with peace.
How I want to plant seeds in the garden
of your mind, root them deep in the soil,
and wait for them to flower. Time always
tells. Soon my arms will be overflowing
with pink petals, Sundays, resurrection,
and the color in your face growing,
blossoming, deepening just for me.

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