march – meh, in progress.

see the trees,
their barren
arms stretching
upward,
lonely fingers spread
apart,

revealing the
pale grey sky —
which smells
suspiciously,
pervasively,
of dewy rain
musk.

muted blues
and heathers dapple
the asphalt

and

also the
clothes of
of post-adolescent
painted ponies;

my own brown
leather
boots fraying
and cracking
like
newly visible
ice-heaves left

behind.

after the thaw.

the rain smell
is deep
and i can
feel its strength
lean into me —

its hefty
intentions
rest upon my
sloping shoulders,

pinning me
fast to the season —

a premature bloom.

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