The Embrace

When the puddles open up from the ground,
And spill upwards into the sky, you’ll know.
Nothing collects unless you want it,
And, after darkening, shadows love to shrink.
Soon your heart isn’t too tender to open
and the pricks on your fingers have healed.
And the spots that are too hurt to touch
Are callused and tough and ready to touch
The sharp things that hurt them; not to hurt but
To rub and soften and then, when they’re done,
They’ll be soft as well. To soften and soften:
These are your priorities and you can.