In almost Spring,

Bud
the green fingers
	of the first crocuses
		begin to pierce

the cold soil, 
	as if reaching
		toward the matted hair

of last year’s grass.
	One bright 
		and gusty afternoon
		
in winter’s last days
	will break
		the thin cataract of ice
		
left on the surface
	of the lake.
		The fist

on the branch-end, 
	as April nears,
		is the spirit 

of my body, too —
	longing to shed
		its confining glove,

to feel the sun’s breath
	singing warmth
		across my veins.

Copyright 1997 by Brian Dean Powers
Published in the 1999 Wisconsin Poets’ Calendar

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8 thoughts on “In almost Spring,

  1. I love the consistent corporal imagery throughout the poem – grasping and clawing our way out of winter. This is my favorite one so far. You should definitely publish a book.

    Like

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