sonnet xxxi; still life

creation stretches in the thaw and free but dreamy shakes the cobwebs from her branches.

a crown of little egg-like leaves dances underneath a foggy canopy stirred by a breath of wind that flows as leisurely as floes on the pond, or romancing fowls, emerging from the antelucan gloom to celebrate perpetuity.

the most desired pours a morning light in timid, blinking eyes, and with it sings a silent choir of joy.

we spread our wings and boldly strike and rise without requite, and leave behind the past and all the slings and arrows that hunted us through the night