The trees are coming into leaf
Like something almost being said;
The recent buds relax and spread,
Their greenness is a kind of grief.
Is it that they are born again
And we grow old? No, they die too,
Their yearly trick of looking new
Is written down in rings of grain.
Yet still the unresting castles thresh
In fullgrown thickness every May.
Last year is dead, they seem to say,
Begin afresh, afresh, afresh.
how can the open heart seep in?
inquiry for today~ hoping you know love….
But I also say this:
that light is an invitation to happiness,
and that happiness, when it’s done right,
is a kind of holiness, palpable and redemptive.