The First Day of Spring

I nearly gave up on myself, 
  I wanted only to sink into that 
  Dark, Torturous room—slick grinding, and muffled, warbled, garbled screams—
  and lie on the floor weeping, weeping, 
  weeping... Heart sick

(She Dove
    Came back)

But then, with a measure of hope in magic
  I went instead into the 
  gloaming Present Peace room—water singing lightly, stones set, and a guiding voice—
  and lay on the floor breathing, breathing, 
  breathing... Heart lift.

She drove
    Came home

And when I came home, 
  I walked across worn wood in that
  humble house that is a room—wind whisping, chimes swinging, and your keyed thoughts— 
  and we lay on the bed talking, sharing, 
  touching... Heart felt.