A Lovely Emaciation

A Lovely Emaciation

"because spring comes too soon and flesh with it"
     —Mike Hipson

No sooner does winter finish its lovely emaciation
of black and spindly branches, rigid fingers reaching

through the gauzy gray chill for whatever desperation
might serve as their very last resort, than the sulking sun

begins to linger along its daily arc, fleshing the planet out
of its thin melancholy ache and spoiling the brooding

contemplations of a man susceptible to frostbite's ecstasy
and a thousand cold regrets.