[Critique Group 2] submission for the 29th

[sandrastreeter381 at gmail.com]

Galanthus
 
Still a-bloom in April-
Hardy against late-winter chill-
Much preferring station in spaces
Where zephyr  kisses his cheek:
 
In early days, we spoke just enough
To capture fragrance heralding
Later sun and song of birds:
A snow-drop prophecy.
 
Now, summer nears, three years hence,
And Galanthus sleeps again
We savor its remembered beckoning,
Know that Moly is contender
Against evil siren songs,
And antidote for other poisons recognized.
 
So much shared  . . .  so much yet to come ,
Of delights we never could foresee.
Mine, enumerated here-his, kept close within my heart
And for him alone to ever judge or speak aloud:
 
The lift of leaves in sharing tome,
Or swapping stories of our feline friends;
Shop talk of composition, and psychology;
Safely-bounded, patient guidance toward emotive liberty;
Advice tendered in empowering ways;
Avidity for thought and language, and for gustatory fare;
All, enhanced with laughter seasoning.
 
Everything toward promise: darkness and cold cannot hold sway.
Despite obstructing distance over sound,
We yet hold hands-walking  . . .  walking still
Toward awakening.
 
 
Sandra
 
Every word has consequences. Every silence, too.
(Jean Paul Sartre)
 
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