Poem

Untitled

I long for your tenderness under my feet

your sweltering heat

your full monsoon

your red earth so rich in pigment

your nights of full moon

under the jasmine 

as I stand beneath the catalpa -

it is winter here

the tree is bare

mossy black bark

lean, dry branches like veins on grandma's hands

long, thin pods with all tiny seeds spent

falling softly onto the grass

I see limbs, headless torsos 

soon, spring it will be

I will only see

the lush green on the sprouting leaves

softness in the flowers

and the tree once again beaming with life

I look up

and see the oak titmouse

peeping through her nest

as though to assure.

March 29, 2013