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