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
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