The Last Melt-Promise of Winter

 

 

It’s the last melt-promise of winter

to go green-cellular-green-sustenance-

green-oxygen-green, and still,

our dog, Omen, spins on steep ice.

 

She is a cup without a saucer, a flying

rag puddle of north slope shade,

an unbound patch teetering on the edge

of the holy promontory of spring.