Tending the Garden
Sonia Beauchamp
Dreams awaken
hidden hollows
of sanctuary.
A body made of ice
softens to powdered
snow.
Wanton
& wanting
& waiting
for the thaw
to reveal
lavender
lower lips.
An iris exhales.
A quiver of arrows
unfurls into the universe.
Ruffled petals ruminate
the approaching sun;
not all flowers
bloom
when you expect
nor bulbs
take root.
I lose track
of years,
soften with age.