Mad for a moment

Fling open the door:
the wind blows cold

but we hear chickadees
and as the snow peels back

smell mud
a hint of greening
and Spring’s buds
inching toward light.

Impatient to be out
of its woolens and flaking cells
our skin clamours to be bared
against soft sun,

our hair daydreams
of a ruffling breeze.

Mad for a moment we drag
shorts and shirts from bottom drawers

dash to the porch
to stand for seconds of glory
then tear away, back inside
warmed by a certain future.