The sun casts
lavender shadows,
farmers’ fields
lie in wait
at winter’s end,
crocuses and
daffodils scream
through snow-
soaked earth.
Quiet repose-
dry mouth’d
incarcerated mind,
petites fleurs
sprinkle across
the soft lawn
of her gown,
silvery wisps
crown her head-
eyes like his,
he cannot take
sick from her.
Spring day
as light as dark,
transitioning
life lived death-
decades ahead,
more mother
than sister,
her slip
into the night
will hold whispers
of loved ones
firmly rooted
in soil, still.