(Winner of the Goodreads Poetry Contest, February 2009)
It is a spring-time ritual. To feel
the stretch, tiny crackle of bones
hollow for expected flight. It is
a way to shed winter, the beary
coat of hunger and sleep. It is
lifting a face to sun, to shiver
with velvet tips of green, the
tingle of sap as it begins to sing
its way up from the bulb. It is the
expansion out deep into earth
wet from snow-melt, delirious
with nutrients, learning green.
It is ancient as the first day of creation,
new as the hatching of love in the
compost. It is a fever as it unfolds
in the pulsing of blood, a lift to the sky.
It comes to earn our seeded trust,
it brings us back to kneel and sing.