March

1.

saturday night son's gone to bed wife's in the bath snow falling fast more ice flecks than petals i inhabit my office pencil, article but before i can read i find myself sorting stacks of words and plots clouds of human thoughts i cascade them and cluster trace patterns and keywords driven but daunted to master these artifacts is the task of a lifetime

2.

sunday i shovel snow from the nightfall then sit down again with pencil in hand make notes on thoughts from another mind entirely four-cubed pages and three hours hence i'm two-thirds dug in when the time arrives to move snow again

3.

graphite underlines trace thoughts of great minds shovel strokes frame our home

4.

three-shovel weekend four wheels can't make it to the base of the mountain to witness enchantment four wheels can't plow to my grandfather's house where five hours of snow consume my whole boot wet as the spring white as the dawn i aspire to trek to shovel the walk that rare day of bounty when legs are more mobile than a new-fangled car i'm there in an hour shoveling done in a third as much time muffins inside we laugh at the thick of it deck snow's been lifted so the boards don't cave in i'm on my way the work of a day

5.

lamp light at night i read the last third water the seeds patient through spring lush ground beneath these piles of white