Cuore Come Fiore

The bills are current, the bed is made.

It was sunny and bright at eight,

though snow stacks up in

for-a-while-yet

piles.

It is the ‘eye’ of

winter and

we are still alive.

When February slips under

the wild days of March,

what will come?

I am trusting that the heart

is a sturdy crocus flower,

as it ever has been.