It happens in a moment—
this tiny, imperceptible turning
when all at once the night
ceases its imperial advance
and the next morning promises
to dawn just a sigh earlier
than the one before.
The world still goes on dying
around it, and trying to keep itself alive.
This is not yet the spring.
But huddled in their dens,
their nests, their thick forest groves,
the creatures of the world
put all their wordless faith in this
quiet shift, dreaming songs of hope
that maybe, even now,
it’s already happened.
This is a poem from my new book, The Wilderness That Bears Your Name.
The poems in this book walk with you through seasons of heartbreak, rebirth, and homecoming. Check out all the details and see where to buy it here: