Spring doth begin. I shall not grieve
For winter’s passing, slipping by
As gracelessly as she will leave
With scarce a brownwood’s slightest sigh.
The wind brings shivers and laments;
While crossing snow-flecked moor and mont
I shed my wintry reticence,
Imposed at ice and cold’s affront.
Appearing as the snow is cleft
Are places winter did restrain;
The dells and glades that sleep, bereft
Of single bird’s flut’ed refrain.
Internal landscapes resurrect
As springtime thaws my heart’s estate
Of pain, on which I’d ne’er reflect
And by disdain thought would escape.
Yet here I find a well of grief
Untapped and covered, hidden by
The carelessness that feigned relief
Which draped the earth with settling sighs.
From whence revealing rays split night
To strike the unillumined sedge
I know not, yet compelling light
Has pulled me to the dark well’s-edge.
As, gazing down the mossy walls
My eyes see in the veiled deep
The shifting, dark, forgotten parts
Myself assigned the well to keep.
For long ago I sought release
From my heart’s own full-spectrum’ed light
And now, I see, cannot appease
My darkness, which confines my flight.
Now spring doth aid me; frost recedes
The earth-light that creates and rains
The food that starving hearts must need
In seeking wholeness, lost and gained.
Desire hath brought me to this wood
That shelters my dark hiding-place
— To know the heart denied, that could
Bring sun and shadows to my face.
Stephen Bolles
4/14/82