Morning, Late February – by Jim Krosschell

The sun is still low in the southeastern sky,
but slipping through ash trees an omen of May
alights on my pale winter face like a flame.

                       Remain still.

Don’t think it, don’t mull it, don’t chew it, don’t try

                       to foretell

the snow that will fall by the end of the day,
the doom of the carbon engulfing our realm,
the house on a ledge by the sea in my dream.

Remember that we get our manna of joy
administered only in crumbs, out of time.

Jim KrosschellJim Krosschell divides his life into three parts: growing up for 29 years, working in science publishing for 29 years, and now writing in Northport, ME and Newton, MA. His work is widely published in some 60 journals. In 2017 Green Writers Press published his essay collection called One Man’s Maine, which won a Maine Literary Award. His book OwlsHead Revisited was published in 2015 by North Country Press.