I’m clearing a path
for the sun
to come in,

plenty months in,
a winter piled on my back,
which I’ve been alone lugging,

I am clearing,
according to palpable urge
to shake off
this long held contraction,
I’ve squeezed like dear life
with my hugging,

but,
now I bow
to this insistent urge,
which rides
on the by now palpable,
consistent surge,

brought swiftly on
by return of the sun,
as it seems to slink back,
thanks to the tilt
and the circling round
of the earth,

which is warming and sprouting
and feeding the ground,
so that a new springtime
graces us with its birth.