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Poetry > A Geography of the Heart

Just spring

each day a struggle
branch or blade
cold fog sits
like weighted lead
sky dull to the withered sod
and snow still
April-fooling

slowly
dried-sponge crust recedes
leaving
much dirt
but also
grass
yearning brown to green
birds
chirping roof to tree
occasionally
lemon sunshine

each day a thin dime
rolling on its edge
down
an unpaved alley
into

spring

Published on 11/07/2005

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  L. A. Wolanskyj

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