The beginning of spring

2021

In early February, winter gray,
Stretching sky high from the early morning earth,
Begins again, slowly, to melt away.
Slowly, invisibly almost. Too slight
A pale to promise sun, much less rebirth.
I can’t this instant help but see the light.

Not light so much as edges coming clear;
Not clear at all, thick mist obscures the dawn.
Streetlights unlit, buildings poised to appear,
Low storefronts and a tall brick bank—I see
Faint outlines on the brink of being gone,
Less with my eyes than with my memory.