The thaw

Written by: Beverly Briatico

tiny drops of water cut through
 folds of refuse
 laying dormant in the 
crest of spring 
where fissures of melting ice
retreat.

I lay sprawled against the top sheet 
Eyes fixed on the tempered glass 
before me 
drawing circles with the 
heat from my breath.

The yellow light, daunting, 
and new, creeps slowly 
aware of the struggle ahead
 
Winter's refuse marks its ground
at times, forcing the sun back
tucked high in grey skies.

The yellow light  rebounds 
stronger this time
awaiting winter's demise.