Friday, June 13, 2014

Spring


i
Bleached, bone-dry,
wind-scalded wood;
 
my spindled torso
weathered clean,
 
my curlicued roots
 
clamped in the earth.
ii
 
But Spring’s moist eyes
 
defied my fingers,
 
imagining freedom,
 
conspired with soil;
 
I grew round, bright
and brazen.
 
 
 

 

 

No comments: