365
Signs of Spring
Buddha’s head peeks out at me
from “oer receding snows
It’s warm, yet a cold wind blows
The frozen signs of Christmas
lost to banks of January storms
are readable, not reachable,
anachronistic symbols
of time out worn.
El Nina blows across the snows
a devil in her fury
picking up the melting frost
hurling it aloft
storm-tossed she moves the moisture on
to other climes…