I wake in the same skin
wrapped in a new millennium,
bursting seams with decisions
like tight catkins opening
at the first hint of spring warmth.
Our separate paths move closer
in a desire to remove
the cluttering dead wood of our life.
We take small steps up and away
from office-tight roots,
voices that block out the light.
Turning over the earth,
to seek out the perfect green seed
waking beneath unexplored plots.
You steady me when others believe
I should only work familiar ground.
I scatter confetti of applications
to the four winds,
a bud tensed at the cusp of spring.
Taking a chance at falling,