March

Comes sniffing
around the yard
on chapped paws,
a rattle in its chest,
slashing tail, just
itching for a fight.

I’ve got two fingers
carelessly wiggling in
invitation. Look here’s
the fire and a cup
of cream. Let’s not
fight this time.

I made this bed let’s
lie in it and watch
the snow slow, let’s
trim your claws, let’s
count the bees, let’s
let things be.

March

I have two tickets
for the train, my old
bag by the door, and
a thousand cranes
folded, packed. Let’s
make for the coast,

Let’s break with
all this, the sleeping
trees, the traitor
wind, the bottomless-
ness of February,
the ice, the ice, the ice.