When you’ll leap from the deep
obeying nature’s verdict,
you’ll feel the sap
inside your stem,
rushing the season,
and you’ll know where you’re going.
So you’ll open your eyes
to the sun, appealing
for detached rays of light;
inside the vacuum-refreshed
density of your universe,
you, a galaxy of hope
will change hue
to dainty purple petals.
And you’ll bloom,
raising your neck
from the patch
left by the last snow,
like the white space
so important
between the stanzas
of a poem,
welcoming what chance brings.
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