Chrysalis

you are the dell

the place of refuge

where the mossed limbs sleep

where the first buds

unclench their fists

and give themselves over

to growing

you have carried the sun

on your shoulders

you have set your fingers

around the first spark

to shelter it

you have kissed

the frosted eyelids of winter

to open them

that spring may rise

from her spent chrysalis

and lay her hands

on your injuries