beyond the reflection
of yellow kitchen walls,
the green couch and the black dog
nose prints, tulips and daylilies
break soil along the driveway.
I not so much see as know.
The first finch grips the strut
of an empty feeder, and the chimes
lament a minor tune. Certainly,
robins gather winterfall and
warblers crest the gulf, and soon,
perhaps, move on.
But for now, I am
content to tap a window
and wait. For later,
when the fever breaks,
and we emerge
into full green summer,
like the drowning takes
takes a rope and a breath,
The fledgling will have fledged,
fruits will be well nigh plumped,
and we’ll taste summer
as if for the first time.