April opens my tight-fisted heart

and rattles away all bias

and judgment

against the winter I fought

yet needed so perfectly.

Today the heavy blanket

I stitched feverishly

with chaotic weave

in fierce, breathless resistance

to early darkness,

death, cold, solitude

and change,

I will cast into the rising Delaware

as my wrong accounting…

seeing finally,

in this blessed armistice

conveyed by troupes of daffodils

and robins,

that not one thing can hold firm,

and no one season

holds more wonder

or validity

than another.