He asked me what it felt like

as the snow sank,

wet and muddy at our feet

and the hens ruffled soggy feathers

into the spring storm

 

Sparkly, I said.

Lots of pretty colours.

And that sweet burst of his laughter

filled the space beneath the trees

 

But what I really should have said

was that it feels like unfurling

opening layer upon layer

of heat and want and raw trust.

Expanding into a shared vastness of all that ever will be

where even the moon seems touchable

and the earth makes tiny footprints on open petals

 

and on the edge of that sweet world

arms outstretched and heart flying

 

The unfurling reverses

pressing and encircling

in gentle and fierce sweeps

that curl forever inward

to a place where there is only us

There is only us