An Early Spring

You blew in on the wind of an early spring

with a hint of new life in your step.

In a seamless motion we punctuated

an eight-year-old sentence.

And I realized your name must have been

written within me before I shattered

because I could feel

your embers linger in the remnants.

But many the hues of respect and admiration

you painted on her face

awakened a memory of the missing

portrait he drew of me.

I closed my eyes to prevent the tear,

and you were gone.

Naturally, I returned to the basement

to scrub stains out of dirty clothes.

Frost bent the green blade.

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