april

this season is hard to leave
creeps back with its
microbes and chrytatine hand
to layer itself shimmery this morning
on tender growth, dark soil.

by four-thirty, the sun
not yet pulling at the dark
resting barely warm against my
sleeved arms

bare trees pressing rhythmic
shade against my lids as i pass under
light, strong shadow weights
spring’s gauzy mist.



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