Potentiality

Lisp of winter slips; silk-glitter grips the barren tree

Brings the hour full of flow’r potentiality

Nothing is nothing, my darling; though it may seem so

Even nothing turns to Something where all seasons go

Wish away the way of wishes; what are they, my dears

But the utterance of potentiality’s tears

Years wash through skylines; green-silver-gold-bronze-cold, they fade

Planning, planting, pruning, picking, plucking plies its trade

Hard to understand, my darling, where we have not stood

Fingers cannot always clutch the crux of greater good

Faith must trust;  potentiality’s gaze transfixed where

Hope and hunger band together to find what is there

Potentiality, darling, fills then spills its bit

With the grin-groan-grit and glory of life-stories writ

© Janet Martin