I am afraid I shall bloom to soon, I said
staring through the window’s glass
to branches bare, and grey.
An artist’s stroke, a loaded brush,
A flick of the wrist and there.
A trunk, a limb, a limb
angling, reaching skyward.
It is pronounced and beautiful
this winter tree
holding its ground, standing strong
a blue blue sky. A sky
too soft for this season.
A sky for June.
life shoots forth
from ground that offers no resistance.
It is February
the heart of a winter
and so we all look about at the warm
the birds the plants