Could it be spring?
by A. Gagliardi
Sidewalk ice-flows change their course as the days drip by.
Snow banks ease into dirt-tainted mountain ranges.
Concave snow peaks parade craggy terrains on their hems.
Could it be spring ?
Ice ledges suspend themselves
over cement gutters
lurking in street shadows.
Winter struggles through March before grudgingly relenting.
Spring slithers silently into April.
Skinny sunshine milks the days’ minutes away.
Squirrels hungrily dig for newly sprouted bulbs.
Curious buds stretch their yearning toward a weary sky.
Could it be spring?
Cars travel incognito,
wearing street clothes
of road residue and salt lick.
Winter struggles through March before relenting.
Spring slithers silently into April.
Spring Time Snow Fellow
Spring Is A Bird
By A. Gagliardi
Spring is a white bird
who’s elusive song
plays hide & seek
among the branches
of bush & tree
Spring is a whisper
on the wind that
you can almost under-
stand that pulls our yearning
heart to listen
Spring is a game of tag
with the morning dawn
a peek-a-boo with dusk
the hope of a thousand plus
seconds of illumination overtaking the dark
We must be still and offer
our palms open and supplicant
full of suet and seeds
full of belief that the bird
will come
-that spring is already here