Raking the Front Yard

after early April snowfall,
temperatures rise to grackles invading
cedars and rooftops

doves were heard this morning,
the window left open a crack overnight

thatch catches north wind,
swirls to the roadway,
this disturbance of six month beige

I build piles, shovel them
into recycling bags,
note the imperfections spring exposes

along with the neighbours
we hardly saw, or when we did,
they were hidden under layers of clothes

each muscle lifting snow, or pushing
a snow-blower down the perception
of a driveway and sidewalk

so like a sculptor, faced by the mass
of unformed granite, imagines
and I, listening to your description, understand