DAILY A garden inside
Rolls from deep sleep
A long ago lover,
Sacred to the beloved,
Reaches out in green longing.
Has the stone been rolled away?
Is the moment ripe?
“Not yet.” “Soon”
Scarcely vibrate
The quivering nose,
First to sense wet earth,
The field of Bluettes…
The perfume under supple arms
Lifted in surrender,
On the possible “yes,”
Love waits
Anxious to be known.
The back of winter’s bleakness
Broken by memory,
The lover, the gardener,
The ripeness of the heavens.
Spring’s soft whisper brings new hope.
Beautiful words that paint pictures in my mind and in my heart.
“(now the ears of my ears awake and
now the eyes of my eyes are opened)”
e.e. cummings