Winds out of the north last night
brought a forty degree drop.
This morning gray blankets the world.
The back yard is a Bruegel without peasants.
Wait, there’s the cardinal
darting through the dark green
trying to find his legs
after the long wooden winter.
All these days of waiting.
The trees wave their black arms furiously
as the woodpecker tries to sew
the wet edges of time into their bodies.