Monday, March 11, 2024



Trees un-leaved

Naked in the stillness 

Of frosted dawn,

That old complacent wisdom—

Winter passing, the coming of spring

Buds like curled fists.

Birds returning to their nests

Every winter we shiver 

A little bit longer.

Hoarfrost whiskers our bones 

We slouch. We wither.

Hips snap. We slip.

Exhaust our list

Of foolish gambits.

Spring has passed

And doesn’t come back 

We bloom only once

Then hunt for blankets


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