Middle March
Mercurial assault maneuvers give wayto clusters of reconciliation through
the snuggle melody of rain, running streams
the caprice of biscuit-warm days
and ginger-colored winter-dried weeds
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poking through the thread-bare
fading coverlet of old snow
to snap like rugged banners
in winds still February chilled.
Lime blabberings of spring
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are not yet even whispers,
but expectation watches the willow
whose seductive streamers green first.
Middle March nature is
an epiphany by committee
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of sky, trees, water and sun
advertising April's mercies and prophecies
with soft cathedral voices.
Our vinegar-tie-dyed indoor skin
seeks compassion in sun searching days.
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Through the spiny ribs of the larch
Middle March is a Christ-like month
of unpretentious anticipation of spring,
Winter's repentance, if you will,
and days that reflect every season.
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