But what is this?

A shard of winter ice,

Self-inflicted,

Pierces my heart,

And I bind it tight,

With bare branches,

And fallen leaves,

Desperately trying to hide it from the light,

As though this were some precious pain,

My suffering and mine alone.

 

And then you,

Playful, hurt, child-like, inviting,

Appear once more before me,

Where you have always been,

Smiling into my heart,

And my bindings break,

As set free,

Every tree on earth bursts into flower,

And bear fruit together,

In this eternal summer.