on a warm winter day

smells like when

the boys were small,

the sweetness of souls virgin

and raucous on jungle gyms;

shadows of carefree joy against the gray

blue of incoming spring. The warm evening

a winter reprieve, light on the far

western horizon, the V of a threesome

of geese searching for a soft place

to land and live and be.

who am I to grieve the waning days

when winter gives way to such

glory of spring

and beginnings

once

again.