March still brown, not yet
green, relief of the in between.
I relish lack of expectations,

heralding holidays, demarcation
of calendar year like commas
in sentences and stanza breaks
in poems. That pause, breath

I inhale. Moment before affords
space for reflection and energy
to gather for tasks like rocks
stacked, each balanced, support
for the next, toppling over
haphazardly, as it is supposed to be.