Full-throated beckoning
of sand hill cranes
fills the sky.
Not yet gone mounds of white
continue to melt.
Underneath, earth gathers itself —
soft soil readied by sun 
and worm movements
within.
 
A woodpecker’s steady knocking,
the urgent gusts of winter wind
sighing its last breath —
harbingers of change.
 
We, too, untangle our roots —
allow ourselves to separate bodies
from wool sweater cocoons
and down blankets.
We unfurl ourselves —
reveal bare skin,
squint at brightness,
savor sunlight,
and drink in the awakening.

This poem first appeared in The Avocet (2016).
Used here with the author’s permission.