Husband

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With March pleasant in the air
My gardener’s fingers
Find soil smudge
In their ready tips.

And the light footed heart
Of daffodil magic
And sunshine breath
Skips like lambs

To the work of seeds
Pregnant in their trays.
And I think:
On days like these

It’s not only the lungs that breathe
But the skin
And the brain
And the body,

And I feel that with the mellow rays
Of springtime in the bird’s announcing,
Man really could be
True husband to the world

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016

Anticipation

 

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Slow on dormant
Short day
And soil
Chilled stasis,
Yet latched
To the axis
Of the earth
That will
With solstice turn,
Unwind with light
And spiral out,
First shoot,
Then leaf,
Then the flower’s magnitude,
Until
In swelling apex
And full, green flush
Of potential’s plumpness,
All the tangible world
Expresses its ripeness
And rests gladly
In energy’s hands.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2015