THE WHEEL TURNS
THE WHEEL TURNS
Her,
May-green with
a light breeze.
Him,
February’s
cold
touch.
The hours,
the days,
the light
that vanishes,
only to return
and
begin anew.
Nothing truly
ends,
even as air
moves
the words
from page
to page
and light
follows
into
the next day.
Each of us
just the
remembrance
of those
holy words
of
reframe.
He,
now the
spring.
She,
winter’s open
door.
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