Glad am I to see such frozen lips on morning’s edge,

quivering, stiff, unmoving.

She struggles to kiss each day.

Her hope unwavering, her sun-sheen still to come,

her laugh boisterous yet understated, she prepares.

The immanence of her arrival means many colors become one.

The collective explosion of unpredictability, hiding in beauty

bows to the unifying loss of all to gain the one.

Yet she who comes, though dark, mysterious, unclear,

brings with her resurrection’s promise.

Winter-dark shimmer holds in her bosom Spring’s giddy giggle,

her fickle but welcome friend.