Spring makes the Earth soft,
like a new thing,
Soon to be budding,
While the woodsmoke fades.
We uncover our tender places,
Roots that rise through warm mud.
I was a post for new antlers
And you took off my skin.
If only we'd been less thinking,
More, deeply listening,
The way I know what I don't want,
I am unwanted, too.
The way, we both already knew.
I'm glad for what I didn't show,
And what it taught me of you.
As grateful for the smoothness
Reestablished,
Giving us both
More room to grow.
