Overtaken Comments

Always the same. Always new.
That throated trill, the throb of it

heard through shut windows
and doors, their inch-long bodies

inching in more and more March
light, the trees still in-waiting.

That first stirring, then frenzy—
peepers, coming alive with water

that slakes the dry thirst
of winter above and below ground

and a newborn sun's command
to begin again, begin again.

That wonder at what is going on.
And when I open the door,

the still cold air thrilling to this
riot of need, my entire body

turns inside out, and yields
to these spring passions of earth.
...
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