In the sun-stained brown grass

Spring is lurking under this chill.
I can smell it. The winterbright sun is
trying to thaw something reluctant, not the
snow, it's gone. I think I found it, the

first clover that's not in a ranch house
window with a leprechaun. So small,
with light and dark greens only found
near the earth. My son can sense it. He won't

go in the house when we come home. This
34 degrees is different than three
weeks ago. He's rolling around in last year's
leaves with the cat. I think they're both purring.
                               

© Bàba