A Time of Thawing

Power's on again:
Inside is warm, outside cold--
Familiar balance.

Forsythia frost--
Icing on the nascent buds.
Two months left to bloom.

Passing on the road
Susan and I exchange talk;
Then go on our way.












Snow is heavy, wet;
Pulling down the fir branches,
Melting into shine.

Snow falls from the leaves
In muted clumps and white spray,
Not from the sky now.

Far train keeps calling
As if it's going nowhere;
Just crying sadly.

Geometric shapes
Pressing into the soft snow:
Winter road waffles.









A time of thawing:
Warm drops fall from above,
Cling to thin tree limbs.