David J Bauman

The rain is ending

and with everything soaked
                           the wind turns light
wrung out
                   fit now for flight

At dawn
              our curtains
                            quiver

And through every bird
            we begin our hearing

                           of

a whirl, a roar
                           a sprouting once more
of mud flecked
                           Skunk Cabbages

Their dirt tickling crown
                           loosens the ground
                                                      and is startling

Their gift, a greeting:

                 Louder than the Trillium
                     Louder even
than our renewed expectations