In my
veins, in my bones I feel
it, —
The small waters seeping upward,
The tight grains parting at last.
When sprouts break out,
Slippery as fish,
I quail, lean to beginnings, sheath-wet.
Cuttings,
Theodore
Roethke
Love is smooth water, dark and silent.
It is stirrings within those waters, deep and slow.
Love winters in drab pools beneath ice,
beneath wind, fierce and biting.
Love moves into summer adorned with lily,
with muskrat endeavor and faith.
Love builds each spring a home
on the ashes of winter’s deepest fire
banked and covered to endure
when there is no reason to do so.
Each day, I find in your eyes
each and every season waiting
my return. I do, each day
I do.