Unlike the sparrows

They bathe energetically

in the lilac tree

under my kitchen window.

They immerse in it

as I could only wish to do.

-

They seem thrilled for the blooms

for the life that returned, but have

they been waiting too? Have

they been dying a little inside,

like my stiff, sun deprived flesh?

-

Do they look forward to this

spring dance? I’m not so sure.

They seem natural at receiving

all as it comes, as it is, as it flows.

Good for them, because I,

-

unlike the sparrows, am

already dreading the winter.