Already Different

January had an expression like a congested cloud

waiting so badly to let go of all it held in

one look to the sky and it was already different.

March came silently like veins that puff along

hands who knead patterns in dough.

April was the careful seamstress whose warming thread

ran gently through the remaining snow.

The silken slippers of May left flowers we are not to forget —

and June’s sun was sweet, but stayed only a minute.

The days felt like breaths, but the seconds left an imprint.

It’s been only six months, but I’m already different.