Mid-March: at the eastern heart of this
morning like no other,
The perfect pyramid of Spruce Mountain
rises weightless washed blue.
Above and beyond, arrives
a fresh and fearless sky,
Harder blue,
pulsed–through with the hue
of future roses—
Blooms that, in a softer season,
will be here,
Warm and glistening,
fully-fleshed,
In the all-pervasive sunlight
that seeks itself even in shadows.
-Kevin Macneil Brown
