Towards March

Almost forgetting this shorter month

when days don’t quite reach their end

and thought flounders in hesitation

as stasis takes away planting minds.

 

Paths are blocked now for the green.

I duck thorns and branches growing

not randomly, for I feed and water.

Reaching for piano is also watering

 

March reminders, sound dropping

gravel in the humid haze of now.

There in the sun, how it was

then,  all was still

 

Copyrighted by the author

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