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In March


In March

 

It is the pause that comes between

The seasons breathing in and out;

Hillsides neither white nor green

A landscape that’s note-

Worthy for its rampant emptiness.

 

Clouds of coal-dust in gritty sheen 

Curl tight as wood-knots,

The deeper silence of leafless trees

With baffled boughs 

Beneath a sky forever bleak and sunless.

 

The damp fragrance of fields, thinned

By frost. Caught in the throat

Of a small bird – a winter wren

Perhaps – an expiring note

That drifts to whisper or something less.

 

Holding out for the sequin-

Bright air, moon-burst fraught,
When life wells up from these rutted fields and trees

In hungry thrust, turning from what is now

But a world of damp and dreary idleness.

  

John Muro

A life-long resident of Connecticut, John is a graduate of Trinity College, Wesleyan University and the University of Connecticut. His professional career has been dedicated to environmental stewardship and conservation, and he has held several executive and volunteer positions in those fields. His first volume of poems, In the Lilac Hour, was published last fall by Antrim House, and it is available on Amazon. His poems have been published or will soon be published in Euphony, Clementine Unbound, Freshwater, Amethyst Review and elsewhere.

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2 Comments

  1. "Perhaps – an expiring note

    That drifts to whisper or something less."

    A thoughtful, picturesque work honoring what surround us.

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  2. John exercises our senses even in the middling of March. Gets us to reflect. And take more of life in. Much more. Seeing greater depth and beauty in what we take for granted. Looking into the overlooked. His poetry is wonder-ful.

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