LAST DAYS OF WINTER
The storks in the ice on the window panes
have blown to the riverbanks where a Dalmatian
bounds, towing daylight with its dropped leash.
All the poems of black coats and wool scarves
on an evening bus are transpiring from
their sweetening musk into the prose of bare hands.
At last, the secret trees of April are blooming in the air.
With each breath, I celebrate the words surging in their roots.
With every footstep, I inherit their liberal emblems.
Words and images © Chris Bronsk
Chris Bronsk 
Thank you very much. I’m glad you enjoyed the post, and I appreciate the feedback.
this is so lovely, i like it very much
Thanks, Richard. I’m glad you like it and appreciate your feedback. But don’t anthropomorphize too much. We like you just as you are. :0) Best wishes.
I really love this post, Chris. The trees have got real presence (in the photographs and the text). I’m anthropomorphising like mad here.
I really am enjoying see the world through your eye — both in words and images. So, thank you.
Thank you for the comment and positive feedback. I’m glad you liked the post.
beautiful. visual introspection.
me too! Such a relief!
Thank you for those kind words. I’m really glad you liked the post, and I’m glad it’s April!
I like the idea of secret trees bestowing secret words upon you as they slowly emerge from the cold depths of winter. Quietly majestic, I would say, of the poem, and images.
Thanks, Richard! I appreciate the compliment.
Beautifully understated. :)