The white bone in my knuckle stabs
through yellow skin, a leathery 
thin wafer, a winter coat 
layered from cold  

Pink, soon it will be, pink
petals and quiet dancing 
fields of golden sun
thawing me 

Fingers, soft 
to the joy of birth, the arrival 
of Birds, sun, songs.
Endless 

I wait.
My sour hand holds
these days clenched before 
life opens