Under ash trees’ stripped branches,
intertwinings filtering light,
like the idea forming on the tip
of someone else’s tongue,
an inconspicuous flash of white
are snow drops emerging
from their closed season.
She’s been practising all winter,
windows shut: études, nocturnes,
resolutions, their plangency …
Today she’s stopped sweeping snow.
Balconies attend our changes
in behaviour. Hearing difference,
we’re searching out spring bulbs.