Spoke to

God again

He reminded

Me that

Simply because

You open

The door

To let

Birds fly

Some stay

Happily singing

I watched

A tree

Shed its

Leaves and

Wondered if

I let

Go of

You

Would parts

Of me

Fall and

Gather tripping

Me or

Be swept

Away by

The icy

Winds of

Spring laying

Me bare

And fresh

And new

And there

In that

Little voice

Which always

Speaks but

Is hardly

Listened comes

Blessings in

The forms

Of whispers

Spoken by

God himself

One day

When this

Flurry of

Storms pass

And I

Burrow from

Beneath the

Burden of

Memory perhaps

I shall

Once again

Spy an

Icycle melting

From the

Sun and

Know that

I too

Am healed