alive

Photo by Alex Holyoake on Unsplash

stirring the
filaments and tendrils
beneath frozen soil,
you kindle this spark
that glimmers and burns and spreads
consuming the dead until —
bursting through this brittle shell
sap quickens, runs-a-rushing —
pulsing thrum of hidden drums and
these tiny branchlets,
fragile fingers reach,
arching, before the verdant bloom of
rising green and
even the wind moans

you make my blood
sing