Paper whites

image

I hear the woodpecker
sounding hollow
on a tree
and feel it, too,
rapping on my heart.
The sun
cas
      cad
             ing
on my limbs
like they are
leaves of grass
and I feel green with want
of wind gently rustling me,
little shivers,
vibrating the core,
gently,
         gently.
My eyes,
like wings,
lift to white like a hand to a latch–
Narcissus Papyraceus–
blooming
by dilapidated fence,
nature knowing not
of man-made bounds.
My heart,
reaching,
             reaching
to your door;
these things, too,
know not of winter.

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