March 9, 2026

The bulbs scraping skyward
to bud lopsided chartreuse
after blanketed months
spent revving in idle may freeze
next week if the forecast holds
and winter slips as promised
a single gloved hand between
the post-show curtains to shimmy
and snap once more, but for now
it’s spring and the windows refuse
to close and the breeze can’t stop
skipping across our desktops and
our chins lift defiant sunward,
unable to sink back into our chests.

---

love notes
a ritual to start the week