Near Spring Equinox

A ruby crocus near the porch sends up

hope—winter of sorrow is waning

the dire moon of almost-spring rises

full with promise of renewal,

shaming twinkling city lights in its splendor.

I search for my faith, wonder where

I lost it, find it in deep cinnamon

mud smushing up between my toes.

Across a spent field, a lake in shadow

serenades curvature of earth.

As if on cue, a comet streaks

across somber roiling river of sky.