life is the process
of constant transformation
to the sides of things
until April dissolves her hold.
The freezing pond
becomes a verdant marble.
Keeping nothing in and no one out
the wall wanders the mountain
dreaming of open fields and hand plows.
The still green meadow
holds out the possibility
of an Indian Summer.
Rocks and trees know not to struggle
but to simply stay until the appointed time comes to go.
Change is forever pulling or pushing.
Do not begrudge the current its way.
With a blanket of hay
the garden is tucked in for the winter,
snug as a bug.