Paired

In this dry, brush-bearing season, while still in the throes of hibernation

All natural stills, what's inside of me thrills

Though I do not quite know the reason

It must be the warmth of the sun, I think

As I feel the beams dance on my head

The sheet is rolled back, winter stopped in its track

So I feel we must be on the brink

I ache for spring deep down to the root

I long for creation's resurrection

But the ground is a grave, every path is weed-paved

A guardian of deep-buried loot

Tender shoots cannot shatter such a boundary as this

Soft tendrils can't loosen dead earth

What is dead must be paired so new growth can be shared

Tis the death before spring that we miss.

-Paige Phillips