Mar 22, 2021
2 min read
After such a long winter
meditation, love poem, 03.21.21
It is not quite Spring — nights still cold,
ground still matted and brown, trees still bare,
though they wear now the faint scruff of buds,
blur of texture against a slick slab of blue sky.
Evening comes, gentle, taking its time,
and we stand outside, leaning into each other…
