yellow dust from yawning jasmine and oleander.
It bends early irises, creates a nervous first
dance between the freesia and arugula, draws
a syncopated song from roof and chimney.
Soon, we will open the house windows and doors,
read books on lazy swings, sip the scent of gardenia,
fill the house with magnolia and white sage.
But for now, we stand at the window,
and watch the wash of winter.
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