Rumors of Spring
Greening trees thatch back
a tattered sky.
The cock-a-hoop of Cardinals,
roosters and cawing crows
all kicking-up patches of sound,
ruddy periods in the catchy sonics,
canorous stops and starts.
all in a catawampus.
I am far from song yet.
my ears are bats hung from chilly temples,
but I do feel a coyote-itch
a hitch and twitch of subliminal nooky,
My springs are unwinding
in the imminent offing.
I do imagine bosky blooms
upon the hairy chops of whistle pigs,
and conjure getaway goslings
gandering, all within a fuzzy feathering
of a new-fluffed season.
I do.
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