Winter

Memories of spring no longer turn up unannounced like they used to.
They now have to be conjured by silly rituals.

First, carefully mould the still midnight air
With the rhythmic roll of a chosen name, till you recognize it.
Recognize your existence that results from the realization that you really do.
All the while take circuitous routes through familiar places,
Awkwardly sniffing dead leaves that you missed in their prime
(the competition was stiff back then).