On a day in December  
On the cusp of whenever
A cold freeze came on my shoulder
A chill I remember
Now that the temperature
Is warming
And my black fingers
Have fallen off
And the sun hanging
Higher in March
Thaws my breath
With the budding of
Ornamental pear trees
Azaleas
Wisteria's purplish glowing
A daylight gradually
Growing a bit of warm
Wind
On the fields a hush of hope
Gathers nearer
The planting of seeds
And grasses
Rebirthing.
Stained yellow glass
Ripe with natures
Pollen colors outlooks
And wisens this old man
In awe to the glorious
Flowing of
Reasons and
Rhymes.
I understand
Seasons.