Maybe tomorrow

there’ll be

 

more ‘’life’’ in me.

 

Like the moth

who aches all winter

 

craving heat,

battering my window

 

for release:

 

although the ice

has formed

 

thin crystals on

my heart,

 

maybe the sea

will wash away

 

all weariness,

the swish of tide

 

beneath my feet

will turn to spring flood

 

a new year

a new form.