The sun lives again,
(sang slumped bones and grey minds today,
weary of winter’s endurance.)
It called me early from my bed
to where it pierced in most,
the window with the roses on the sill.
Wind swirled without the bite –
the golden beams kissing each bluster
with warmth enough for our lungs to expand
and breathe deeply without a shiver.
Snow mountains shrank into streams
and roof gutters did what they were made for
almost gladly, spraying droplets in
bursts of thrill for the thaw.
Hearts, too, have felt frozen,
though cooped indoors.
They’ve stirred against the dullness,
wanting to see glory in still (even [more]) snow blankets –
but so needing the sun and a grand melting away
for starting again.
Yours and mine leapt
for the hope of certain springtime
and believed in the promise again.