the winter flowers bloom
in confused profusion
I on the other hand
or turning a new page
or dusting myself off I
love the warm days
the cool nights under the wool blanket
the hummingbird drunk on red
bags full of clothes to give away
old letters from old lovers
bundles of clothes to give away
winter squash and the first asparagus
clear skies with no trace of fog
the sight of you in the chair next to mine
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