The Thaw
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.
Copyright © Beverly Briatico | Year Posted 2006
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