The sky has grown tired of holding up the trees,
the slow tedium of repetition.
Encircled by winter, all things living
are hungry for the sweet taste of color,
white blossoms, green branch on blue sky.

Early on a February morning, a tall maple
weeps quietly, stretching his naked wrists to the sky,
and I wonder at the difference between begging and longing,
at the knowledge of created things.
There are times when I can imagine myself with a gift
for consolation, and the sky and trees are soothed,
and we all have patience enough for a little more waiting.
We tell stories to warm out days with memory,
or let the air fall silent and still.
Our breath turns to lace.
Remembrance is sweetness and aching,
and winter the space in between.

– by Sabrina Fountain, taken from This Beautiful Mess by Rick McKinley

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