i have been asked
i have been asked
by my heart
to start
winding up. Spring
gingerly drums
her fingers
on the bedroom
windows, wet
for the third
Sunday in a row.
i have been asked
by my heart
to stop
neglecting. the cherry
blossoms you think so
little of for their
brevity is balling up
their fists again, still
defiant in their
ninety-eighth year.
i have not been asked
by my heart
to fill up
the emptiness. biology
shows us that our hearts
were made to be emptied,
filled, emptied,
filled, but no one can
narrow the number of
times down to a science
.
20100331:2230
y
y 
Another one out of the park, y. I love the tone of this and could see everything like in an old French movie. More great stuff. Pearl
a french movie…i like that. i’ll have to put myself in that frame of mind…(smile) thank you, again, for reading and for your compliments.
Even though the “days of mourning” are just a prelude to the years of missing your loved one, it is refreshing to see the light forcing its way into the shadows on your heart. Now as you view the world as photographer, as woman, as poet, you can let spring /gingerly drum her fingers on the bedroom window/, sharing moment and place; that the sanctity of your bedroom is where you first begin the “winding down”, the processing of the rebirth all about you out that window. As I commented on another portion of your blog, your photo for the day, and your poem of the day are a perfect fit, clasping tenderly together like a pair of lover’s hands. And you remind us as carbon units in lesson, we all embrace a form of brevity within the cosmic context of allthatis,
seeing the buds struggling to be blossoms on that 98 year old cherry tree that you cherish and monitor as metaphor for regeneration, as life
trumping death, as light banishing darkness–as your heart reminds you that it is a feeling factory, a great pump, pumping life, yet aching
and trembling while doing so, being vulnerable midst its constancy; for poets are empaths for all around them, avoiding stepping on spiders, coming to tears when watching a Monarch butterfly sipping nector with its fabulous wings twitching.
And to take the joy a step further, you record the image as photograph and poetry.
i truly enjoy your detailed viewing of the writing and the photos. your re-matching of my writing and your own photos/artwork on your blog makes me wonder how else people may perceive and/or feel the words. thank you, again.