these days…

There will be days
you stay clothed in sweatshirts and blankets;
when after sunrise
you’re unaware of noise from light in damp streets
and fog from midnight clouds,
clearing slowly by dark
branches and vintage golds
broadly pummeling those pale oak leave
who seemingly do not rise.

On these days
you’ll try hiding in apathy for the sun,
curling your knees in tighter
to a cold chest.

Release your joints.
I promise it is warm enough
to face the sun.

See, the ground is thawing.

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