before the sun

i step outside
into a breeze
too raw for spring
still tinged by the melting snow.

in a day
or two
the last whiteness will be gone
and the air
will blunt with warmth.

i take
in my arms
birch wood.

an easy burn
in the days of lengthened light

and i wonder
toward nights soon to come.

warmer nights
where the smells of
birch, ash, and oak,
will mingle
with sage and sweat.

and i will see you
in the dim light
before the sun.

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