The vibrancy of spring is in the air;
and the dark brown shells that protect
against winter’s growthless realm
vibrates again, mothered by a soft sun.

And though there is joy all around me
my heart does not lift up. My soul carries
on its back a weight that drags me down.
A weight that seems to stifle all growth.

The buoyancy of a ballon is the lightness
of the gas that fills it, so that it descends
up to the heavens. The gas has not filled,
my spirit has not sparkled soul’s buoyancy.

My soul remains but a dark brown shell
unable to open to the creative joy of light.
Though I sit, tears in eyes, tears in heart,
I am not alone, faith still touches my arm.

(original)

The buds are thickening,
And I feel as emptied
As an unfulfilled year.
Perhaps, also, I
Do pivot my life
As the spring's new growth.
And if my growth does cycle
With tender timed spring...
Then I shall not flower.
This time of new life,
Still in winter's grip,
Finds me unhappy,