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Image for post
Bougainvillea, Asturias — photo by author

After days of bitter grey,
when hope had faded
to a vanishing point
and every sign, pointed away,
the sun’s return,
brushing my cheek,
awakens like a forgotten kiss.
I lean towards the warmth
instead of curled and tight within;
Along the street, smiling faces like prisoners released
and in the evening, as the light faded
birds and children called,
reluctant to give up the day.

Spring and love arrive thus
coy, for ones so certain,
like the dawn, or loss,
in steps too small to be noticed.
How, I wonder,
could such astounding moments
arrive on such quiet feet?

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