Spring

Springtime,

And there are flowers on the trees.

White, and pink.

My love,

In my darker times

I am contracted

To almost nothing.

To almost nothing.

And still, you can raise me

Bright, awakening

With purpose and essence, again

And not finished; no.

If I stretch up high enough

I can almost see

You standing by me

And many other things too

I look down.

‘Enough’. You tug me to the light.

Your long, human torso is proud with it.

Enoughness