Combustion in an Anachronistic Spring

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Virginia winter in Pennsylvania, rivers brimming and glossed,

limbs exotic in their nakedness, stadiums empty and haunted,

men tarring their roofs on the last day of January,

while up in the mountains

east of of the city, crocuses

are piercing the leafmat –

that slow, undeniable thrust

come two months too soon,

yet not soon enough;

we feel it, too, strong

with the urges of continuance,

mad to be remembered,

fueled by the essence of living.

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