April Second
This morning the sun
reclaims the window ledge
and the black wet hickories
hang heavy with lime spiders.
Last year’s towhee is back
shuffling for grubs
beneath the wild rosebush.
I let the window up a gash,
and a sunny chill squeezes in--
I turn, and you have felt it, too.
We smile, coffee steam
licking our face.
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