Wednesday, March 3, 2021


After all this time I've been 
waiting for you,

there must be something 
I forgot to do, but 
I cannot remember. 

Now, the birds say 
the season is new; 

the one long night is melting,

and the light 
has a temperate, 
compassionate weight.

Even on the darkened 
side of the street, that filthy 
clot of ice 

is dissipating—but I hate to see 
how it leaves 
in its wake 

a lot of debris 
from the previous December.