Today, the cottonwoods
in the canyon are already
more green, more lush
than the day before—
we, too, are everyday
more ourselves, which
is to say less our story
and more whatever
it is that writes the story.
Of course it is not easy
to become, though
look, we can’t stop
becoming no matter
how hard we try,
It’s so soft, the new green,
though you and I both know
what it takes to push through,
to emerge into the cold.