Spring Thaw

A remnant conceals
things I can’t
change, a blue
glacial memory
reveals:
              light’s sharp edges—
                         I lean.
As if my body—
subdued
by brittle, gutter, brim
ice. Finding a chickadee’s
feather on a snowflake,
while lost in slumberous,
smooth, blue, smoke.

             I awaken to a chirping,
             flock fly overhead.
             Indeed grace.