It is Your Season


It is your season.
Though every one of your
leaves has fallen, and new growth has not yet come,
it is your season.
Though your roots are the only proof you have
that you are still among the living;
though
leaves, nay fruit, seem but
a far-off dream—

it is your season.

Do you know how I know
that this is so?
Because the Beloved loves to play
with Becoming, turning “Patience”
over Its tongue just before
It
finally
whispers

“Blooooom!”

‘It is Your Season’em claire
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