Cobwebs and Pearls, 2020-2022

How lightly we learn to hold hope…
and still we carry it…
-- Insha’ Alla, Danusha Lameris

Too often, cobwebs cloak my pearls—
   obtuse all memories of days, years gone
and hint only at thoughts—vibrant before—
   now vacant, lost to time. They lie solitary,

buried deep beneath fall’s leaves. No polish
   to shine these gems. And winters, they’ve
been so harsh these years—the days of illness,
   the unknowns— as clouds and winds still

tear, ravage fierce with snow, fierce with fears
   that shake, blow deep even rake hard against
our sky. Each of us, remote now, retreats to home—
   often terrified—in silence, alone. And yet, in one

buried corner of our frigid minds and yards, below
   the mud, the dirt and straw that crack with bitter
frost, crocus buds of purple, fuchsia-pink, even
   chartreuse—wait for warmth enough to bloom—

our Asiatic lilies, dotted with rose, fast to follow suit—
   once rain’s drench, at last, arrives. Only then, after
thunder’s crash, after the wearisome hours of winter’s
   depth, its pain, those dying days— our wonder bursts

to joy. We surprise at our steady friends—those redpolls,
   the faithful cardinals, and bobbing robins, even

the grossbeaks, their feather-vests so bright we flinch! In all,
   one flash of time —before Spring peels our eyes

to open, to catch a wayward sun, and grab a glimpse
   of one tiny goldfinch, —his blazing gold, hidden—
hidden high, on a whisper branch of birch,
   beak opening wide to throw a full trill of hope.