(February 29th)

Perilously close to closing the door 
On the season of dolor and stupor. 
Perilously close to lethargy’s lease 
Date. The contract’s up, the buttercups 
Will sashay in. Any day, now. 
Any day. O what will become 
Of winter covers, of slow recoveries 
From colds, from cold lovers. Percolating 
Whole days. Musing over hot soup. How 
Easy to tuck under a comforter or ease 
Down by the woodstove, conking at eight 
Or nine. Daylight long gone. Bothering 
Someone else with its knock and promise 
On the southern curve of the world. Perilous 
The awakening, the suicide bridge 
Thawing for the March leap, the half-asleep 
Ones fumbling with their blinds, blinking back 
All they have not accomplished, blinking back 
At the new slant of light, then leaping and 
Aiming—aiming—for that black hole 
In the ice that was yesterday coated 
Over, silver and shining and wholly closed.