How stark the white of the snow is, clinging to the new green of the trees.
This storm breaks exactly the way I do when you call for me.
How fragile we are.
How strange.
Can love exist without this desperation?
Gestures like light reflecting on the water.
I am so grateful,
I am so sorry.
My cells, like a chorus, crying out in unison.
Not just now but for all of time.
I can’t feel you enough.
Or taste you enough.
This is what I have been searching for.
© Elizabeth McLaughlin | April 16, 2018
