Grace and Peace to you.
where just a week ago snow and ice entombed,
and long gray skies cemented gloom to our rooftops:
Only if you’ve waited long,
walked knee-deep through absence,
shoveled what is bound and buried,
chipped things free each morning,
and waited, waited for the light,
does this—more than robins— catch your heart
and make you stand and wonder for a while:
in the bare brown woods,
tiny baby fingernails of green,
(is this how angels speak?)
that what is buried can emerge,
that all things are renewed,
that from dark exile there might be return.
This is how earth pronounces
It is enough.