The first flush lingers
like an unrepentant morning fog,
draping across hills and branches
devoid of rustling leaves, sleepy
as they wave in the breeze.
We are sleepy too, waking
with a flat view of a rolling landscape
as it curls around fading dreams.
There are constant discoveries
with an open heart: flowers in winter,
new spices at dinner, old dance steps
with willing bodies.
A stretch and a pull towards light,
towards where you are.
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