Yet, the Spring

Memory traps
the grim; the net-

long night,
winter wind.

Powerful how
we're punished-

a short hallway,
the failing day.

It's no light thing
to hesitate, to linger

when the snow
is melting.

These mortal fields,
this "tapping" on my window,

the dark moored boat,
the tethered dreams-

and yet, and yet
the spring.