Not So Long

Another room has opened in this night

which holds no winter: vibrato in the waters

and transmission from the firs, oceanic

south wind - abrupt, benevolent, stealing in.

Not so long and the chirrups will rise, amphibian

gladness from the ponds, creeks, and ditches,

when dark air sighs about the notch of warm

poised in the chill - of softening humus,

when air sings strangely of water houses
multitudinous and suspended, where the crick
crick crick reverberates, and skunk cabbage surfaces.
Not so long and the oak won't rattle - but release

its stiffened leaves, like shriven sins; not so

long and daffodil green, wetly woven, will

bend in pliancy and sheen, in silence.

A room is being made, a humble promise.