April 24th - Surge

There is an
Acute sense
Of sorrow
In watching the ice
Evacuate lethargic waters
As Spring approaches.
As it thaws, it
Cracks, shifts, and groans,
And the sadness
Seeps into my bones
(Like the cold).
All that's left
On the pregnant,
Rushing river
Is a skiff of abandoned ice, a lingering
Scent of winter,
And a trace
Of what once was.