After winter’s long empty lung, a breath taken;
the sun shudders forward again falling
north along the sunrise horizon.
In the rising light
the skwee of a cedar waxwing
stretches along the breaking curve of new shadow.
Rustle in the bush: salal-shine, sky blue
with time’s redolence;
long before the flowers begin to show
life under leaves seeding
old year’s bones splinter under foot,
the surviving ones, they ate the last of winter
& withered berries
here on the path forward,
black-tail pellets, fresh.
A day at most.