Spring Waits

3/28/2011

I wept for late summer’s withering death.
The cool finish of August inhaled her last breaths.
The ripening comfort - a golden caress -
ebbed and flowed in through my bare rising breast.

As the sting of the cold thawed deep in my chest,
the embers of autumn exhaled on my flesh.

I slept through the night where fall lay with her fate,
lulled by whispers of winter, fresh on my face.
In the black sapphire depths of a dream speckled slate,
she breezed off confessions of warmth she would take.

Winter's cold indigo soul then invaded
the places gold autumn had left saturated.

I kept hold of those hues that winter would spare.
Her prisms were prisons, cool tones of despair,
yet the grey cage of winter had secrets to bare
and the key was what wiles nature soon had share.

Where the wind shifts directions and sweetens the air
- in my windows left open - spring waits for me there.