I've been blanketed in the dark, heavy days of winters
trying to recreate what's been lost--
and taken away.
But there are still
two tiny sparks I'm holding onto
in the most desperate manner.
My fingers entangle themselves in this
wet, soft, moist soil of hope--
clinging and grasping for the steady
strength of home.
Spring now lays itself at my feet
in a kaleidoscope of possibilities
as I emerge anew from this shell.