Gone Now

February is gone now,
with her quick, clean lines
and tilting globe of determined sky.

She hung her skirt out wantonly
on the naked open neighborhood,
dark with clouds and pink with dawn,
I listened as her tongue licked trees.

No need for solace in her rain,
my weeping chalice is gone,
where winter skies and dappled roads
flush the aching river in me
to the sea.

A tree was made so love could stay
and blossoms gamely on that day
with pink peach petals weeping down
where tears have not an opening found.

February is gone now,
with her quick, clean lines
and tilting globe of determined sky.

I have fondly said goodbye.