Winter’s dark
is lessening
as of late.

Made bright
by the rise of
a full crow moon,
made soft
by the thaw of
icicle veins.

The water’s
moving more
easily, the
sun lingering
longer.

Summer to
fall to winter
to spring:
after life comes
death and after
any death comes
new life-

Time’s enduring
ouroboros of
mystery.

I wander
these woods,
day after day
calling your
name towards
infinity.

The trees
wave their
familiar wave,
their branches
preparing
new life.

They tell me
to never stop
seeking,
to embrace
the mystery.

That spring is
getting closer.

That death
is just a door.

That life will
always find
a way.