I am looking for a new beginning -
yours—and mine—and ours -
in the midst of this mud.
Sky: still raining, as it has for hours.

We are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.

It lies, massing, under these bricks,
and compost, and newly-nodding shoots
I planted just yesterday:
sharply pruned. Just sticks—and roots.

We are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.

Stand porchside, dry. Lean out. Bare toes
shiver-wiggling against damp concrete,
hair spattering with runoff
as it flows from roof to street.

We are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.

Soon, the promises of warmer weather,
sunlight, a chance to dry and move along
the path of unfolding greenish glory.
I don't know whether we'll wait long -

- but we are waiting for spring,
for light, a signal to grow.