Robins skim the freshly thawed grass
searching for prey
like worms that melt and decompose
across the asphalt.
Geese make crooked loops like knitting needles
Dragging broken thread across the sky
Hollow bones caught in my teeth—
a salmon springing upstream
or the first bruised strawberries from california
signaling the end of winter
like robins on beady feet
There are nine of them now, hopping
in the dessicated summer garden
red-coats, snobby
lunging with scalpel sharp beaks
I wonder if i will face each spring
as ready



I dry my hair, crouched in front of the electric heater
the slow trickle of spring water
from the ancient showerhead
warms my body
in this pewter tub
hardwater makes verdegris
beneath the faucet
I sleep buried in pillows
the sleeping bags do nothing
to warm my cold flesh.