Pick up your parcels with trembling hands,
your bundles wrapped in brown paper and tied with rough string.
Line your shelves with packages to be opened,
one at a time,
and fill them with flowers that bloom and then fade.
Lay out your trepidation to dry in the sunlight cartwheeling eager through your window.
Stretch yourself on the cool wooden floorboards,
arms spread wide enough to grasp the edges of your vision and pull it further,
to open for yourself the world beyond the contours of this one,
and untie in slow succession the carefully-fastened bows enclosing your post,
the spiderweb writing of far-off correspondences and the warm gifts of friends.
There is no fear to be had in the sunshine.