Spring's Messengers

A house too long made sanctuary
easily turns cage, but it's a hot prison
that can settle heavy and almost pleasant
in your lap, until you nearly forget how
the wind and snow have formed harsh iron bars
to keep you inside (here or there--
you still flit between warm-bellied structures 
like a hummingbird among honeysuckle,
but without the flight's thrill, ignoring
the closed, unfriendly sky and frozen ground.)

You'll remember, though.
We are here at last:

the joyful unfolding of the first daffodils.
the touch of sun-soaked asphalt on your bare feet.
the whisper of a kind breeze through your hair.
a hundred little things to catch your eye
and tug your mouth into a smile.

Soon you'll slow down
to savor the slanting of sunlight across young grass,
the verdant taste of the mild air,
and the loud warbles of a young wren.

We are here at last,
reminding you to love
and breathe again.
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