Saturday, February 7, 2009


The melting snow forms dirty black rivulets along the road
And the sparrows are singing April songs.
It’s only early February
This sweet reprieve unearned
This fierce defiant sun too easily won
But, like the birds, I can’t contain myself
And answer hope’s call when it comes
Some primal pull turns me toward the sun
And I shoot myself out
A dizzying tangle of green
Fresh roots and stems
Buds and leaves
Too tender
Too soon
But I can’t stop
This mad sap dance of joy.

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