Spring flutter

February flickerslast trace of winter fingersa half moon flies frompink ringed sky. Snowdrops push throughwater laden meadow& the mud goes on & onthick, sticky, like blood. I wake to grey morningswhere sleep lingers& the duvet thickensdrawing me back into the dark unconscious warmth of sleep:where we walk the sun baked sandto the rocky fort & stand staringat the thin rimmed lip of sea just the way we used to be.