My first choice is to open the windows and tear the plastic away,
and let the sun shine thaw out my aching bones,
winter depression and other damages unseen.
Soon my poems will blossom like seeds,
their roots flourished by the warmth of a sun gone wild,
I will kneel and give thanks as I struggle out of my skin
like a sleepy poet ready to dangle metaphors from my pen.
We will all drink, eat, and feel more;
when we touch, smell and breathe more,
we are so privileged to have two working hands and hinged knees
to help plant the seeds that come to life in the Spring.