It’s spring that catches in the throat—
A laugh that’s swallowed in surprise—
The light that peels the shadows back
From trees as they adjust their crowns
To hold their silent bombs, the buds,
That no one ever sees explode—
“This way, this way,” the bird song goes—
They land and reconnect with their shadows.
Some people approach holding flattering mirrors
That warp just a little and scatter
The light that you carry
In ways you can barely detect.
The closer you get, the less they reflect
Your true image, but stretch
A false version of you in a thousand directions
And slowly confuse your self-perception.
The only way to regain your bearings
Is to close your eyes and to reach out your hands.
When that rooster crows
You will remember what you know—
That every loud profession
Is an accidental confession
That the quiet, enduring substance
Of loyalty is absent.
At the break of dawn
The world will see what you have done—
If you can see it too,
Then you still have the power to choose.
Love does not live in the words you use
But in what you choose to do.
