This morning, a shaded
step from our front door under the umbrella
of the mulberry tree, a thrush
calmed her feathers
as I passed; furled wings and fledgling
hearts within dappled shells her anchor.
And the first strawberry
hung in the light of a ripening sun.
Tonight, there are stars
singing onto my window pane;
I will steady my hand
and breathe the amber
roused to a spirit upon the surface
of your wrist, within the deep
cradle of your neck.
These gifts, they thaw winter's
shawl clinging to my shoulders.
