April Has Very Few Words
but throatfuls of songs
April has very few words,
but throatfuls of songs;
packs nothing
but petals, wings,
and countless
geometries of leaves.
April gives no advice,
is incapable of lecture
or reprimand; has no need
to forgive or be forgiven;
does not walk, run
or dance, but rather
feathers into your tissue
and asks you only one question:
Will you let me show you why you are alive?
Hmmm. A counterpoint to TS Eliot? Maybe not.
Strange, when I first glance at the photo I see a thumb and two fingers gripping the rest of the flower.
Beautiful poem Angela. Loved the last line. 💕