The cataracts of winter
Which had so firmly threatened permanence
on the eyeballs of the citizens of the great white north
are dissolving, now.
Our paces quicken, and yet we linger in the rain
...because this is a new kind of precipitation.
One that does not shock the skin,
But jogs the memory.
And when feet find each other beneath blankets
There is warmth.
And in warmth, softening of skin, lengthening of muscle.
These muscles, which had wrapped themselves so tightly around my bones
To keep the frigid air out,
to protect the heat of the coil in the middle of me.
These muscles loosen, now.
The ragweed and I, we are taller.
We wave at each other, on highways
From opposite sides of a car window,
And we point our shaggy heads southward, smiling and golden.