Gently

This week I go gently,
lighting candles on my way,
floating on the half light of dawn
rivers of glass caged fire.

This week I go gently,
stepping out of warm water,
wrapping limbs in origami,
feet in soft blue parcels.

This week I go gently,
sipping camomile, wearing
ski socks, fitting the light to the
front of my bike, coasting

the darkness of winter. Gently,
I’m nodding at the undone trees of
bark stripped bare. I’m opening up
slowly.