Dear Raspberry,

When I returned Noe

to the earth and she sent

her staccato of sweetness up

into the unending sky,

I was not yearning

for more than I was given.

Then the blueberries got

to chattering all along

the lattice of the deck and

you rose from your empty

decade, your margin of darkness

to reach a bracken arm in.

Volunteer is what they call it

when a plant chooses you.

I did not know how to be chosen.

You showed me how the husk

of an old life becomes a chorus.

You showed me receiving

could be as simple as holding

up my empty hands.

* * * * *

A Valentine’s Day reprise