March 7th,

I’d hate to be branded a ‘nature poet,’ although submissions like this aren’t likely to sway any critics so minded.


March 7^th,

A gaggle of geese walk on water like Jesus,
It’s black ice thin enough to seem still water,
Waveless in late winter’s day,
Precocious nature’s tricks at play

Yesterday they were bottoms up,
Searching the pond’s bottom while I counted bottoms,
White feathered gloved hands that waived
Before long necks righted back for air

Warm late winters bring on early cold springs,
Just when we’d begun to… everything,
We must postpone ‘til another date,
Green crocuses too have to wait

Bitten ears tell me I must put on my cap,
More days to hibernate, perhaps just a nap,
Except the black cat’s fur is so sun warmed,
  for it’s strong rays, I’ll risk
My naked goose bump winter white skin
  against much early vernal harm