It’s happening again – a bare-limbed bush
across the yard has leafed out overnight.
On parkway edges hyacinths now push
the earth, and turn with quince blooms toward the light.
I watched a hummingbird imbibe today
and looking closer now, I see the shoots
persimmon wears, the plum tree’s white display,
and lemon blossoms bound to grow to fruits.

There’s two weeks left before the month of March.
The fish must swim before the ram can run.
The weather is delightful as we parch
and dance and tan and sicken in the sun.
We tilt too rapidly to spring – almost
a time machine amok –
too late: we’re toast.