Slow over branch,
white and stumbling pink
they do not come to light
immediately but
bloom, late as blood
learn to walk
in spring’s earliest mildness
fragrant outstretched transparent
just in time to gather slowly, like love in words,
and fall at rooted feet.
Might I live that openly, that
fleetingly, to seek tenderness
and in his kindness
find it is strong.
Comments