Like the bears that woke
too soon from hibernation,
we’re confused, unused
to temperature swerves
through cloud days, sun days
requiring further adjustments
along the grain of our habits.
Seasonal reprieves and promise –
yes, promise, even now
that pavements are slipping
beneath a hardening tin sheen
and unpredictable melt patches.
Finches flicker at a feeding tube
and up in the woods we can only imagine
how fronds unfurl and bloom
against the grain of the weather –
this midwinter spring, this smoky light
that rises up the frontages.
From a quiet corner, the street
extends into a parallel arcade of trees.
