Thaw

The first sign of spring

is not the pinking yawn

of cherry blossoms to dawn

But the bundles of blossoms

that emerge from sleeping trees.

That slivered green

is the truest color:

the first remembrance of life,

cell-deep.

The truth is

I don’t think I’ve much been

living well, lately.

I wake with aching shoulders,

tense hamstrings,

the cold made home in my muscles.

And yet

The sun rises still,

the daffodils bloom yolk-yellow

in their naïvety to a potential freeze,

and even the robin,

blush-breasted, begs

my return to the land of the living,

the annual grassy passing from

hibernation once more.