1202 canterbury lane.

i miss childhood the most
in the early dusk of false spring.
february plays pretend,
dressing up in warm breezes
and pale, premature green.

the cries overhead of birds
returning home from a long
journey transport me to days
when i sat on my front porch,
bare feet slightly blue from cold.

i liked to watch the sky fade
from rose to grey, the soft
curtain of twilight slowly
filtering the day’s warmth.

bare tree branches made
defiant statements against
a purple sky. their brittle
starkness stood in protest
of all the softness of spring.