The 31st of March
A cold insistent rain swells the buds.
Swamp maples begin to redden, a scarlet
that taunts the corner of the eye.
Lichens swell and fur the oak boughs.
In Paradise Hollow, a mourning cloak
idles past like an animated kerchief
haunting bare branches. Look: the wood
cock rises in feathered desire.
Green uncoils pressed against earth,
grasses, moss, bulb spears pricking up,
the tiny leaves of pesky chickweed.
The first slug of spring extends itself
like a yawn across the sand. My next
year splits open to show its first color.