Swallow

There once was a time
I would grab what you said
Close my eyes
And, run my hands all over
The summer-baked,
Warm, inviting
Mud clay sculpture of it.

So I offered you
A blue-backed bird
Wet with autumn rain
But when I opened my eyes,
The storm had passed.
So I watched it migrate
South, for the winter.

An ever-fixed mark

A symbol, a sign, the nock of an arrow

Units of time, creep to Halcyon days 

A lexicon, whetted, too early, too tardy?

Shakti sits knitting a blanket of leaves.

The sapling shakes awake in the forest

Primrose blooms proudly, ahead of her time

Though compass divines an unclear direction

No tempest shall alter spring's sap rising high