it heralds something
like the men that hike the piedmont, there

like one hundred and forty five moons
and you're stubborn, yet

it is a catalyst

like the curve of that road
like tapping on the sill

born in the heat
and tossed into the chill

and you're stubborn, still

patient for summer
so stubborn, still

you'll wait for the warmth
aching in the outfields
for the fire to spread
and carry you off
with its soot soiled hands