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Early March

by Steve Quig

It is in the absence of color
that he often lives
his life, the subtle shades

of gray that together
crowd his peripheral vision
and fill his day,

but when all is new,
when the forsythia flames
brightly beside the door,

when the starlings swerve
and dart through
the narrow gap

between hydrangea
and dwarf apple,
itself showing just the faint,

pale stirrings of spring,
when all is renewed,
he steps from his porch

like Columbus departing
the Old World,
leaving first prints

across wet grass,
and the air is sharp
with morning.

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