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Winter trees cracking the sky.

And daffodils. I told you

I would never leave.

Spring barges into the apartment.

Birds drop from branches,

now with bud, now with leaf,

to strike brisk air with fresh wings.

You never see the moment

it happens. Fingers make bruises

bloom under my skin. Change:

A stairway into a room you can’t go back from.

Into deeper colors. Into stones.

Change into the thing you want to be,

forcing your life to conform

until the surface shatters.

Bird-calls. The ice-locked lake

returns overnight. All it takes

is one warm day for the conceit

to be overthrown, for the crackup

of thin floes to begin. You see

it coming, but are nevertheless surprised.

Posted 08/14/17
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