The hard light of dusk
sits heavily upon eyes
waiting for soft night.

Everything trembles;
flowers, grass, and stems shutter,
and bend with cold wind.

My poor irises!
I fear they'll be beheaded
by the frost tonight.

Coats of leaves begin,
to cover the broken bones
of ice ravaged trees.

Two robins fly up
flapping wings and pecking in
either love or war.

Cold rains are falling
Washing green that hurts my eyes
-breaks my heart with hope.

Storm clouds and flowers-
April is the cruelest month;
fast and beautiful.