Thaw

Through and through the changing world,
solace always comes with reanimation.

It currently is those precious moments before the end
of the cold, the dark ruling the day, the faded glamor
of white crystal marking every surface.
It is that glimmering sequence where the world
rolls over like a limitless beast in some far abyss.
Light creeps back and the sun quells
a glowing half-torch before the far colored horizon.
Creatures stir on the edges of empty forests
and ice-blue water running free.
Shadows relax their rigid grip
having been stretched beginning to end.
Insects stir and rise, a living cloud,
whose entire life will only know this one solitary spring.
Snow melts in messy piles having absorbed
all the dirt of grim of the season.
The wind picks up making every shape
bend and buckle like a whirling devil had arrived.
Rain comes like it had not be heard
for eons, it's delivery quiet and calming,
but still haunted by a hint of ice and cold.
It hits us like a wild phantom,
glancing us physically,
but pushing us emotionally to our
state of rebirth, reanimation, life.
Leaving us with renewed hope
and the distant afterthought,
that even this mighty renewal
is fleeting.