An early Spring from a late Fall

Bread crumbs on moistened fingertip
she licks the salty earth (to taste).

The seasoned snow will continue to fall
and soften corners wishing for silence.


and since Dawn's arrival her warmth
is warm, as fashions thus are worn.

Forget in expurgated surfaces,
renew dead chicken-manured flowerbeds,
await the coming on of ovulums.

Despite the nipping cold, outside
our homes the moon hides then blazes
for those who chance a weirder game
of reading ampersands as lore.

I never made-believe the unreal world -
such stuffs were sprung from earliest concords
and still-standing writwords - you ever see
the same clear-water glades or modern turf,
but diff'rence speaks with thoughtless tones and heat.