Renewal
It was the feathered purple of a blossoming iris,
kissing the laden air
with trembling lips.
I was awakened by its fragrance,
the newness of its ancient story,
told yet again by a moistening earth
in silvery birdsong.
Sometimes,
I have missed the turning from gelid and motionless
to the softening sway that unerringly follows.
I have been embittered—
brittle and bare as a crooked branch,
scraping a vacuous sky—
but not this time.
This time, the tenderest breeze,
prodded by the fingers of a spreading sun,
finds me waiting—
eyes closed, smile turned eagerly upwards
to greet the renewal
of creation.
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