Tender

Perhaps it is the strength of my Norwegian bones
that unleashes the tremors
when green is overfilling the places
between leaves with more green.

The allure of the longest day
thunders in my head
like a voracious hunger
that only light can satisfy.

My body aches with the echos
of a mournful, empty sob
of relief after months
of so much blinding white.

I sweep my arm along my face,
over my ears at the buzzing and bites
that begin to itch.
My hands useless
covered with dirt
that was found
where pumpkins
and sunflowers
will germinate.

The tender roots
rivulets of life
in the warm soil.

Here I watch the ghosts
of my love flow past me
chanting an ancient familiar song.

Death is a false door
to this Valhalla.