when I leave the cottage in winter

2 Apr

The world
holds its arms open
and I fall in-
to the branches of a tree,
leaning my cheek on its bare
limbs while tumbling

sheets and towels,
warm-scented and wonderful,
punctuate my departure,
marking the end of my
solitude, birds

now silent,
reverent or resting, the
sky now infinite,
colorful, constant
as morning
over the lake,

it’s time for me
to stand up and fold
to pack up and go
while the ice melts
from the eaves.

National Poetry Writing Month
30 poems in 30 days


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