Cirrus clouds ice the sky white as deer tails,
which the dog missed but drinks up the hooved soil with his nose
pulling on the leash, wind puffing up clouds of cedar pollen
eyes watering a dread, not knowing, don’t know.
Red buds twist open early by the heat, the snowy owl starves here
in Kansas, irrupted south from the tundra, turkey vultures riding the thermals, spinning
the prevernal cyclones north to Michigan.
Beware the Ides of Marching seasons; unlatch the leash
the dog runs away
— Ken Lassman