Beyond my fence trees speak
the perennial tongue of limbs
and budding leaves of newborn green.
With palms lifted to the mist
I pray the song of days in the sing song
voice of a mother clutching feathers of an empty nest.
Time is as kind as it’s cruel, as light as it’s dark,
as short as the years it grows on a calendar.
My heart cradles dreams in the heart of the oak
where every ring forms wings of goodbye.
Tucked into the greening of shaman spring
is the enduring lessons of letting go.
Susie Clevenger 2021