Where I'm Bound
In spring a tide comes rolling in
In little rills of gold and green.
If I could see it from above—
From higher than I've ever been—
I know that I would see one wave
Of green, flooding the empty cove
Of the earth. I've felt it roil and break
Over the thickets with a froth
Of dogwood blossoms in its wake.
I know its coming by a streak
Of tiny flowers, April's wound,
A sudden quickening in the wreck
Of the woods, long before the sound
Of birds. It's then I'll stand my ground
In that green flood until I'm drown
There, where I'm rooted, waking, bound.
DL