Already the new year is feeling
like part of the one just passing.
The tree by the kitchen window
shows its same skeleton, as if
thinking to itself that we might
ask to view the wooden corpse
once again before the daffodils
And the blue we see between
rainstorms and stormy-sea skies
holds up well over time, with
not a twinge of color change.
The old that has been around
so long is still in fashion, still
admired by word lovers trying
to bring all the beauty into mind.
I sit through January waiting
for the okay to come outside.
A let-up in the rain must agree
with me before I am free to
dig the garden for summer
food growing. The things I’ve
left behind from autumn lie
scattered along the fence or
stacked away in boxes.
My first step out will be to look for
what has curled up underneath
and hibernated. I expect worms,
salamanders, sleeping lizards,
and maybe a wood rat or two.
All of the life hiding away,
waiting for me to come find it.