Ugh. One down, 29 to go!
How excited everything is to live
after so many long, cold months.
Even the crocuses begin the surface ascent,
the stems finding their pitch against a stiff April wind
while the birds sing their deliberate song for no one,
not even the world with all of its exaggerated beauty.
They are as much the notes not sung
as the ones that are. Let them praise only themselves,
and if the crocuses take credit, so be it.
Let them grip the wet dirt in their silent blooming.