Dear S ó
All week the small
out their new leaves, splashes
of bright yellow-green crowding
the low hills, breaking apart winterís
cold patina. News of Móís disease
last Christmas settled on my heart
like snow, the kind that stays.
This thaw is hard-pressed to clear
the ice floes in my veins.
Today, I watch from my
as buds appear on the willows
lining the creek. Iím enclosing
one new growth, still warm, almost furry.
I lick it like a stamp, paste it to the page
still green, wondering how it will reach you.