Reluctant Spring
Trowel, hoe, shovel, rake
rust on hooks in the shed.
Under a crust of ice
tulip bulbs, daffodils,
lime-green hydrangeas,
pink and purple crocuses
hibernate, dream of May.
Six months of winter. Still
flurries swirl, like apple
blossoms on frosted grass.
April, the cruelest month—
but for that strip of soil
against the southern bricks,
the black leaf manure loam,
fingers dug in damp grit,
the rot aroma, the sage scent
springing through frozen thyme.