I freed my vases for wilting dogwood
Stooping at the absence
Of smiling sunlit shelter
Replaced my shoes with ten toes and skin
Felt the grass talk underneath again
“So many things for granted!”
Too old to care that it was out loud
Too young for wind-song whistling, hours on end
Intimate means tickled by bee wings
Fragrant budding green things
Seeing the earth all dressed up
Scissors trimming wooden branches, as gentle as murder can be
I freed my eyes from waning darkness
Stared at Her Highness, the pastel queen
Replaced the cold with fulfilled promise
Nodded with the murmur
Of resurgent encouragement
