I followed your footprints again today
I stopped and watched them trail off
They were straight and true; unwavering
And I saw that they led to that same sore place in my heart.
It doesn’t matter how many times
The papery birches lose and renew their leaves
Or the number of times the earth moons the moon
I am rooted in place, stunted and spindly.
I tell myself every Spring that this is The Spring
I will be reborn and redirected and reconstituted
But Spring sprints by me, and soon it is Winter
And I am so weary of lovelessness that the coming dark pins me in place.
I look at all the creatures large and small around me
That seem capable of flight and new beginnings
Of letting go of that which will never be a part of their future
And I think ‘if only it were Spring’.