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.