Slow Release

I've left the door open  	to your room   	the elm tree   	beckoning,  
through your window.  	I have left          the door open 	so that 
I can watch	   the spring  	   opening   	the leaves     	   the slow
release	     	of buds 	   	which start    	off as           	gray specks 
to become hard buds 	 and then become   	a tender green
as if from some propulsion     like fiddleheads     a green so real 
like a parakeet.      I have left  	the door open	so that I can watch
this slow opening   of tiny leaves   still,          like luna moths 
so that I can bring  	you here    	back to me	home
to this house   	so like a tree house.   
Your eyes    	a gray amber green 	 bless me