It Was After March 21st When I Saw
my first robin through the waking mist
The pine vole silently declared, “Spring!
when I found him on the concrete bloodied and stiff
at the paws of our cathe had lived in the cracks of our house
climbing in and out of our dustbuster for crumbspuddles awake and sleep, indecisive
trees bare and wet, waiting
melting snow uncovering seeds and corpsesand
the black squirrel in the front yard still
breathing but unable to move from the four crows
slowly snapping at its life for theirsawakening in me from deep time
______[a shared part of ancient man: killing animals, drinking from streams with your face, taking a woman as fleshy property, not knowing why the rain comes]this part of me presses the thin barrel
of my new BB gun to the back of the squirrels skulland
life and death turn overso
I head inside to gently pick up
our new, beautiful crying baby
whilethe Spring breeze
cool and warm
invisibly touches my face