Cling

For here, we are living death.
Bodies linger so long as
dust becomes our nature.
We blossom, orchids in springtime,
discolored petals, fallen beneath
our own snowy graves.

I hear, Resurrection saved.
Jesus.
Stand up, don’t be afraid.
But–
Salted tears are welling
Blood flowing
leaving,

There.
You stand before me
Locking eyes: I tremble
my Mountain, my Sea.

How long I have waited to hold you
My child, My flower;
My arms outlast this Earth

Love eternally–

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2 thoughts on “Cling

  1. Unbelievable that you wrote this BEFORE our trip to the gardens! There’s just something about spring blossoms that makes even the grumpiest of us want to write poems (even sad ones)

  2. Hard little vine,
    dry and knotted with survival’s long
    Silently, subterraneously pitched
    battle,

    Up! up to the morning;
    in full sufficiency have you
    tasted the heart’s deep and muddy bitterness,
    and the season has come to uncurl greenly
    a fair and fruitful smile.

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