FEBRUARY AT FIVE

Startling late arrival,
forgotten in long absence,
Sol has sneaked south,
ducked beneath the weight of cloud cover,
darted through small openings
in the thick black trees
to paint gold shafts down long dull trunks,
to pleat them all light dark light dark,
to prance right through wet foggy glass,
to point warm fingers at
a yellow chair here,
three tangerines there,
to prod us with a, "Look, how beautiful."