the pages a reminder
of the mourning cloak gone now
to make room for spring
the still heron meditates
amid emergent grasses, the frog,
on the grass-stalk legs
Watering old purple
violets and pruning them:
who will return this care?
bee house lovingly
placed, nurturing on display: bee
went into a stone wall
a brook spills over
the rocks, red-winged blackbirds trill
until the gunshot
so many warm days
scuttled by cold winds’ days . . .
now the tree frogs sing
the spring hummingbirds
have returned to the yard but
what did that hawk catch?
daffodils tulips
dew and gray mists carry spring
but where is the sun?
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