Lips of the spring’s tiniest rosebuds
I swaddled you tightly against the elements
a tender white bundle
a new life in fresh snow.
Wrapped now protecting a new mark in your skin
I want to hold you again
that short car ride from the hospital.
Outside, the roses were already opening.
from the studio notebook
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Occasional letters from the studio, the grove, and the practice of paying attention.
Here's one way we can continue the conversation...
Occasional letters from the studio, the grove, and the practice of paying attention.
Here's one way we can continue the conversation...
no line. Just life.
© Paper Plane 2021. All rights reserved. | Legal | Design by TONIC