Cold Rain In April

A weeping, cold rain in April.

Wind like March.

A nest,

not of soft grass and animal hair,

but of blankets.

In that nest,

under wet windows,

the weight of things that can no longer be born

are imagined to be lifted.

Ideas of new life

and new ways

of navigating uncertainty fall,

 drop by drop,

into a heart still holding its breath.

Rest. 

Nourish.

Breathe with certainty. 

Courage will come, 

weights will lift.

The rain and the wind

will give way to flight

in the perfumed skies of May.