The first week in February
Walking east on 12th Street early morning
Blinded by the rising sun directly in my path
Lined up with the street grid.
This day is not on any official calendar
Not marked like Manhattanhenge
When the sun sets in line with the grid
Late spring and early Fall.
The deepest darkness of the cold season
Since the first week of November
Past us now, the quickening begins
Stirring the spring desires from their sleep.
I hear the first halting refrain of the cardinal’s song.
I see the ducks on the pond begin their courting
The cold keeps its grip but soon will yield
To the rising sun coming back north.
