THE BLOOMS OF POSSIBILITY BREAK OUT

Aching
with the breaking blooms
of possibility

Drought shrunk trunks
grown rigid, brittle,
dry for years. . .
thirst amply slaked
a strange sensation
long forgot,
now recalled from root to top,
by one season’s rains aplenty. . .

The stirrings of the shoots and grasses
whose energy cannot be seen,
even while the rapid growth
of brilliant green
they drive
does not require
the aid of glasses. . .

The great expanse
of arched blue sky
that stretches bright
for longer, longer,
growing days
releases strong coiled hidden force
from winter plants and trees and earth,
which did abide
deep in their cores. . .

The part of me,
the wish I’ve ever wished
in perpetuity
to root and grow in steadiness of plants,
and yet unleash to run the animal in me,
the human one,
the unbounded creativity
that finds and absorbs
abundant light and love,

and then returns it
to the Universe,
which it fits just like a glove,
stitched sweetly with the sleekest curves
to trace each finger tip and dip
up and around,
just like a kiss,
blown out from me
straight toward
all of Infinity.

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This entry was posted in Poetic Musing (Longer Poems), Poetry, Seasons, Spring, Winter and tagged , , , , , , , , , , , . Bookmark the permalink.

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