the last chill leaves me
the same moment the
songbirds
announce the death
of winter
like taps in the night
or knocking on an
old door;
my bones are brittle
from the long
dark,
my flesh tingles as
the tips of my fingers
warm. i watch from
my glass coffin as
the snow melts
from ice
into
droplets; sweet dew
and nectar.
i melt, too and its
spring
7:06 pm mst
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