Bare Ground

Bare ground:
last seen leaf-encrusted,
frozen solid
into a concrete block.
Now littered
with driveway debris,
the grit and
grime from the shovel.
A muddy Verdun
of glacierized sediment,
pockmarked from
winter’s bombardment.

Formally verdant,
it reappears as a corpse,
scentless and
seemingly mummified.
Surely, it is
no harbinger of spring.
Yet look—unless
starved eyes deceive,
where snow
this morning held out,
a robin sprouts,
attuned to life beneath.

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