Fierce Is The Coming Of Spring

Passed around by hands, cupped

A slice of light, sharp as glass

I cut myself every time I hold it

Stinging, bleeding from my palms

Counting the scars of my doubt

I feel so young to feel so tired

Twenty-four and cradling my love

My hope and grace and honor

Like it will break me if I hold it closer

I do not need more unease

Fierce is the coming of spring

Where I hold my head higher still

In pride or to catch a breath in this

The endless tide of living

Resolved as always to resurface