I’ve been sleeping poorly for the last week or so. I even overslept one day, waking up about the time I should have left for work. I actually sleep well once I make it to bed. I just get to bed so late and have to get up that I’m not getting more than 6 hours most nights and much less many nights lately.

So, pretty much that’s just my excuse to write less and share a poem with you, instead. This one’s about a year old.

April 1

This bare season

before winter’s end

and spring’s begun

when green things

hold their breath

like a mouse waiting

for the stooping hawk

its shadow passing

over the field.

And some bright, brave

flower forces through

snow-softened soil

to test the sun.