Many months’ weather and weekends have passed;
winter is gone, and I’ve not climbed your stairs
with my shovel and gloves—you’ve not seen my face,
so buried I’ve been in a canyon of cares.
With winter came the winds of regret—
for those I wear new wrinkles within.
I’ve mourned the untimely loss of a pet,
and grieved for the death of a treasured friend.
I’ve neglected you—but in spirit of grace
you offered the gift of forgiveness to me
by leaving a present—a veil of white lace,
beneath the navel orange tree.
Its delicate petals of sweet-smelling cream
are a portal for me to a time and a place
and a memory that was reached only by dream,
of the innocent bride in a gown of white lace.
I believe in your natural healing powers
and roots that tap deep into my soul
to lift me beyond the hollow hour,
out of the heartbroken—into the whole.
