Toward You

A Christmas cactus burns
seven fuchsia blossoms
toward a northern window.
On the other side,
the dim room inspires
only one bud, still tight,
the last to let go.

Here I am, blue out of season.
How many blooms do you see, love?
On the dark side, a tense fist.
You, my light, my southern exposure
know me better than this.
I can’t help myself. I turn.
Open all my hands.


One Response to “Toward You”

  1. eduardo says:

    Love the turn of the final two lines; and how they bring your poem to a close, while still reframing what came before.

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