Amazing, how fast the winter water
Gives way to sun,
Makes time for warmth,
Settles into herself.
Tell me —
How long your shadow,
How deep the sorrow roots,
That lay, sodden and hopeful,
Awaiting piercing rays?
Each day we count the buds,
Like rosaries of promise,
While under foot
The earth remembers
Her ancient paths.
This is how we stand
In the fig garden:
Tin-panned and dripdripdrip.
February flees like a felon,
Breaking hearts in her skip.
