sometimes hope is too small for feathers
freshly hatched, down and awkward angles
a rosy flutter beneath translucent skin
a wobbly gathering of fragile vitality
blind trust under thin lids, waiting
sometimes hope is a simple chest
a treasure box holding folded thoughts,
a map for my mind, a hypnotic recipe, and
these smooth round pebbles of time, held
against the cold symphony of absolute dark.
sometimes hope is all risk and adventure
the other surrender. the yellow paint
of sunshine splashed through your window.
pedalling headlong, beyond control,
racing into windtorn laughter, buoyant.