Spring came on reluctantly this year—
like the probing of a diffident lover,
uncertain of welcome.
It gave me time to remember
how much the heat of the new sun
felt like a caress
and how the breeze from the south
made me feel like shedding layers—
clothing and skin,
and running wild-hearted
through the first green.
Steve Deutsch’s work has most recently appeared in Literary Heist, Nixes Mate Review, Third Wednesday, Misfit Magazine, Word Fountain, Eclectica Magazine, and The Ekphrastic Review. In 2017, he was nominated for a Pushcart Prize.
He stands still,
Holding branches of hopes
And dreams and sun-kissed leaves.
There’s music, There’s wind.
They play. And he laughs
For above is the sky
But the joy shaded his lonely soul
They spoke to him in ways but words.
And he was in his prime.
Until the magic left his bones,
And the leaves left his side.
Death took toll inevitably,
Painfully, one at a time.
They fell before his rooted trunk,
And now he only could bow down.
Wounded soul, he arched with grasping hands.
Sky, give me back what was once mine.