Cusp

sun lights the trees to the west

the south, firs green, bare branches

tipped red, brimming with sap

yesterday’s flurries, flakes

to ground cover, to melt, by noon

every trace will be gone

blunt spikes of green grass

not yet sward, not yet streamers

the summer wind will sway

To Oak

russet hulls of acorns

the squirrels failed to gather

lie where they fall, hundreds

scattered underfoot

layered with sodden leaves

with wet & warming air

most hulls split open 

the swelling germ inside

divides, the radicle sets

on a blind search for soil