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so much has happened
while the garden slept
I hold in my hands, my
apparently dangerously fragile
hands—our future
full of possibilities
not all of them sweet
not all of them conjured by
my imagination.
Some of them will come for us

In the garden, dark purple crocus,
wild violets, one grape hyacinth
poke up between the frost and last year’s dead leaves
We too
We two
travel through these seasons of wake and sleep
we too move through this linear time
Some day, this will not be my garden
Some day you and I and all those we love
will not be here
Someday we will not be

So, bloom now in this spring
while we are all here to stretch
towards warmth and sunlight

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