Spring

A man of middle years is

more the good of

who he is when

he comes to trust the

subtleties of seasons. He has

learned the way of sweetgrass

sheltered ‘neath the

willow brush and currant, soon to

stake a rightful claim through the

dark work of rooting then

flourishing, never the contrary.

When younger, he perched as a bird on

a wire and called it home.

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