Winter has ended as remaining

icicles shatter from rain gutter

edges onto the cemented pavement,

while the floating citrine sun beams

from cotton-serrated cloud film.

All the oranges that fell from the trees,

I had hulled away frostbitten with all

the melting snow; immersing the corpses

back into the earth for next year

under the agate blue lace sky.

Within a clay hole I flay the

remaining skin and bury myself

beneath this orange tree.