The day after the snow,

we take a walk, muffled

by scarves and hats, the silent

words we long to say

in the waves of glistening white.

The snow slivers beneath our feet

in its caroling melt and stream.

Yesterday’s gray vaults a buoyant blue,

a brimming for beak and wing.

And among the trees, the buds spindle, scales

to hold the essential, salute

the sun to unfold.

You take my arm.

I hold your heart.

We are a hemmed uncertainty,

freighted stalks bearing heavy news

and messy hope, daring

to lean toward spring.