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.