Late Winter Prelude
By Kevin Casey

Skunks are singing songs
Concerning scented misdemeanors,
While meadows stretch on vernal robes
Just got back from the cleaners.

Birds chirp out like leather birds—
Green buttons pressed in mud.
A freshet flows with melting snows
And grows into a flood.

But bitter days in Spring garb
Are but wolf weeks wrapped in wool
That sink teeth into certainty,
And—not too gently—pull.