#222 (crocuses)

Howling winds carry the faint memory

of snow crystals prickling my face

my feet in a flurry, the street in a hurry

I am writing on glowing parchment

warmth spreading from my fingertips

my mind is searching for the caress

of an old friend, whose dress is still

too pale to spark the flame of my gaze

 

Too many, I whisper, yet collecting my thoughts

storing them into translucent spheres

I fondle every single sensation, pleasure or pain

weaving them into the ever-unfinished tapestry

keeping an open mind as my eyes close

my ears finding the sounds of early birds

despite the cold, I remember crocuses

blooming beneath the snow

 


© Matthias Geh, 17th March 2018

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