Advent

Here’s an Advent poem from 1994. Do you have an Advent poem?

My cactus blooms again:
last year it surprised me in March, now
the faintest hints Thanksgiving week.
Just days ago, hard leathery leaves dismayed
all but their own mild thorniness.
Now they pinken at the tips with something so
incongruous and yet ~~

it’s inevitable, and
these buds surprise only me.

A cycle is not a circle
and seasons move only forward.
These are not the same buds
nor even the same leathered leaves.
As I am not and we are not,
as we were.

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