Perhaps because the wound
is so deep, or perhaps because
there is not one petal left
to murmur over, or perhaps
because it really is a miracle,
today the heart breaks open
even wider and unthinking we exclaim
yes, yes to the wind as it stirs
the whole field into shimmer,
whirling all the loosened snow up, up
into the air until the invisible currents
are visible, white-frocked and shining,
swift swirl and rising, stiff scour then
drop. The uplift, ferocious,
and then the hushed sifting of light
through the dark evergreens,
the frisky cold kiss crystalline
on our cheeks—the wild gasp of oh in our breath
is spontaneous and real, every bit as real
as the world we would rather not know,
that terrible world, how it follows us
everywhere we go, how even now
its shadow makes this light
even more impossibly light.