Has anyone noted your unfurling,
the time you spent in the tomb?
Waiting for just such a day to start,
tenderly, gently coming up, rising.
Not full yet, just a slow stretch,
fronds reaching for the sky.
As we walk on the way, missing,
stepping aside and not seeing.
How you reach for us to notice,
what might teach us to become.
After the snow, after the months
of isolation, full again, arisen.
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