So much simpler
than you might expect —
life wants to live.
And it handles
a surprising degree
of neglect —
only faltering
a step or two,
then recovering.

However perplexing,
we come to love
the scars you make —
and the overriding power
of pleasure’s
mingled pain.

You could leave it
exposed in the winter meadow,
but still,
when the goldfinches
are again,
so much of their song
says “sweet” —
life makes life,
green makes green,
and love
wants to love again.


About Emily

I may or may not have: A. Dirt B. Ink C. Paint D. Wool under my fingernails.

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