“can you smell it?”
“what?” you asked.
“the spring,” said i.
the corpse of lifeless leaf crackled,
croaked beneath the grinding heel of
passersby. You scoffed,
and scoffed again—a groaning, chill-
wind branch murmured dryly
Even the Groundhog fled.
sighed: “perhaps not,” said my heart, and walked on.
i could have sworn
for a glimpse however brief
--it was sunlight lit your curls.
And weren’t those blossoms at my toes?
snowflakes caked in hope.