Living

looks like fragility,

petalled purity

daring to open.

Living

smells like hope,

tenuous aroma

wafting on brittle breeze.

Living

tastes like cherries,

sun-ripened,

escape-the-frost

and bitter-sweet,

fruit wrapped

around a stubborn pit.

Living

feels like

sun and shadow

and windswept chaos,

grace and worms

and the promise

of a cherry pie.