In between
2nd winter and
The Pollening

I awaken with a headache
that usually means something’s
blooming, and, in fact, so

much is, in this inbetween
moment, which March so often
is in my neck of the woods,

which are not woods at all,
but a city of trees in a neighborhood
with lots of them blossoming

their fool heads off, which I love,
so pretty, but one or two among
them makes my sinuses throb,

especially on awakening, and this
brings you close, Daddy, with your
stuffed up nose and perennial

sniffle thanks to hay fever that Mom
dosed with lots of vitamin C, which
allowed you to mow the lawn

without suffering. And there you are,
my long-ago love, who felt the precise
moment when the almonds came

into bloom, eyes instantly tearing,
nose running, you who at long last
escaped to the east, where I

imagine you encased in snow,
but when I look online, your neck
of the woods shines, 58 degrees

today, and you, I hope, are breathing
without obstruction into Actual Spring,
so beautiful, so full of promise.