Hear still

Your primsoses are out,
the foxgloves over a foot tall now;
forgetmenots I didn't sow
are blue and beesy
in the warm breeze.

The whitbeam
over your heart
I have watched unfurl
soft leaves, white on undersides
dainty yet untainted
by the spit of frost.

The same birds sing
as sang
before the winter
though their tunes
will have mutated
through the sounds they've heard
between then and now.

Every thing that lay close
through winter
opens
with the secret of life.

But all this ground gives me
is the thrusting innocence
of these flowers I planted -
wild, like your spirit
to make wild creatures glad.

I cannot sing
like I sang for you,
as the difference
I've heard
between then and now
is the silence
where your heart beat.

Next year I know
you'll still be here
still.
Forgetmenot.