29 March 2024

February

The wail of the withering trees in 
The autumn, can't be left unseen.
And the prison of the thick clothes
On flesh is not so redeeming.

So the spring has set her sails in 
The far reaches of the sea.
Beseeching in front of the autumn
It has decided to summon the greens.

The last leaf in the bareness of
The skeletal almond tree smiles 
A goodbye to the budding new leaf-
As the first human strips open her 

Smothered body to the warm intimacy 
Of the month of February.