By the Wichita River Between Seasons
by Ysabel de la Rosa

Last leg of winter,
first toe of spring,
here by the river both seasons
sing in contrapuntal colors:

The sun leaves my sight as it,
bleached-white, slips behind
a dove-grey blanket of sky.
Blue and brown birds rush
to fly high into bud-studded
trees and hide behind the
last of the clinging, dead leaves.

Tall brown grasses hold fast
against short green shoots, bright
and boisterous to the eye;

Rough charcoal branches host
pastel predictions of the emerald
and olive soon to come.

Now: A rush of chilling wind bends all
to its will—bud, branch, bird,
grasses, short and tall—
and bids me leave outside
for going home and staying in,
even now
as spring breaks ground.

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