Get Out!

On the green days

when trees pull on their sleeves of pink,
when the ground gives up its clutch
on cold, on bitterness,
when all the grouse whoop
and the pungent cabbage
swoons the bear from his den

and leaf tips emerge
from their uncircumcised fists
and the winds
regret the hostile months
present fragrant bouquets
and ask for forgiveness –
on these days

I ride my bike.

April 2004