Early March

March 09, 1992|By Niki leopold


long since dead,

haunt the

Chinese wind chimes.

The quince hedge is

busy with finches

and tight red bud --

from a little distance,

it's all pink haze.

Snow flakes float in the sunlight

like milkweed,

grazing ragged nests --

abandoned arks,

stranded in the branches.

The shy carp bump

their buillion noses

on the pond's surface.

In the street

a small jeep

quakes and trembles,

pollinating mailboxes,

While I stand

at the window,

rippling the neighborhood

with my coffee's heat.

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