Tender Blossom

I waited at the edge of the stream, 
where the only sound was eternity, 
faintly whispering 
to the dark underside of things. 

Revealing that tomorrow 
is as certain as yesterday, 
a notion 
seconded by the breeze, 
as if alert to my heart’s denials. 

But when you arrived, the breeze settled 
and clouds stopped moving, with stillness 
pervasive and fragrant, and when you smiled 
whatever I believed slipped quietly away. 

Melting again, precarious and 
vulnerable as the tender blossom of March…