Genesis

I think I am weakest now
when things are so uncertain,
the seed still merely sprouting,
not yet budding, still too young,
so small, fragile, delicate.
Too much or too little rain
could mean the end, could cause death
at this crucial moment, when
our hearts are barely touching;
the softest touch sends shivers.
My heart is so close to yours
that if yours should move aside
mine could lose balance and fall
shattering into pieces
that scatter like shards of glass.
I'm looking into your eyes,
but I don't know what's within;
I'm still learning your language--
soundless words, secret, sacred,
begging to be translated.
You hold my hand in your own,
and when you smile, something's there
not yet love (too soon!) but still
something simple, something sweet
that's slowly developing.
It's here that I am weakest,
completely vulnerable,
welcoming the begining,
stretching open my petals,
and hoping it's not in vain.