Letter To A Friend

Come soon.

Everything is lusting
for light,
thrusting
up
up
splitting the earth,
opening flaring fading,
seed
into shoot
bud
into flower,
nothing
beyond its hour.

Come soon.

The apple bloom has melted
like
spring snow.

The lilac
changed the air,
surprising every breath.

Low in the field
wild strawberries
fatten.

Come soon.

It's a matter of
life.

And death.