Untitled #3

This night I knew of Spring’s returning
                when I caught that scent upon the wind.

The pulse quickens
                as the blossoms unfold.

Child, give to me this new life
                with which you burn.

For the withered
        and the weathered
                and the skin of yesteryear

        must fall away

                must fall away.

Beneath it all, we are raw
        and pink
                and delicate.

We must feel again.