Strip veins and bury
bulbs and hatchets.
What of winter?
Think of May
And Mary and water
That washes the sweat
cascading between
Your eyes, and down
Your nose, and across
Your belly.

Look deep into the eyes of
March.
So deep that it alienated
Another's life.
Pedal to pagan sands
of worship.
Wear dark glasses.
Watch Mary cup the wines
of winter, squeeze the
harvests of summer.
Worship the vericose veins
that clutch the last leaf
on the last tree.