In the back of the house
now summer is where winter has been,
I sit in the sun where for months
water was ice.
Blossoms on stem sticks,
shadows under leaves.
earth working worms
squirming through loam.
I have lived in spring’s uproar of green fire,
in autumn’s gravity, so much falling down,
in winter white stillness as earth recovers.
Now winter is back.