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.