Love cast its net at winter’s thin, rime edge

On crocuses and low resistance, so…

Where once I would have stood upon my pledge

I fell, struck by Springs’s sap green vertigo

Into a mouth whose kisses taste like grass

And even though I knew myself a fool

Reasoned that love’s frail web would fail to pass

Summer’s hot tensile test.  But June was cool.

With hawthorne snow, and moon’s ice (and our rooms 

Were air conditioned.)  Then…July was worse, 

For sun-licked limbs lay loose among the blooms

Of wildflowers and crushed weeds.  So August’s curse 

Is that I understand, through Autumn haze

That fall, and snow, reweave love’s web of days.