March?

Winter wanes into Spring.Cold.Slate to granite to Italian marbleslide on feathered wingsThe burden an oxen would struggle to bear.Winter wanes into Spring.Cold.Spirals to about face to thrustsbuffet in swirls of caressThe force Thor would struggle to resist.Winter wanes into Spring.Cold.Slithers to worms to injectionsburrow through slivers agapeThe stealth the stock still buck would struggle to discern.Winter wanes into Spring.Cold.The burden.The force.The stealth.LiftsIn the tip of green at the edge of life.In a flash of azure gasping through the nebula.In the flutter of a wing lighting for sustenance.Susan Ceely Phillips