One Evening In Winter

One night in winter

when nothing has been sufficient,

at the point when the days are too short,

the evenings too long

also, bleak, the mystery

also, resigned buds of the apple

blooms start their fast

rising to light. Night

after relentless night

the sugars pucker and swell

into green slips, green

silks. What's more, similarly as you find

yourself toward the end

of winter's long, cool

rope, the blooms open

like pink thimbles

also, that dark bit

of sparkle called

honey bee staggers in.