Just now, under the frozen earth
the seed awakens.
Its heart begins a faint thump, thump,
and its tiny hands tucked in tight
tremble with a life
ready to burst forth in spring.
So do I, kissed by a warming sun
feel the pulse of new energy beat within.
What do I do with this graced love?
Each moment I decide:
Will I be a weed growing goat-head fruit
that pricks the passerby?
Or am I a poppy with its capacity for bliss
and its glowing orange petals
that make even the horned toad smile?
This moment, this now
determines what sprouts
I choose the radiant poppy.