At lunch today, took stroll in Grant Park,
in rain so gentle nearly hover,
coat open to almost warm that now
for three days bless this February.
Much dirty snow have percolated
into ground, revealing umber shingles
leaves and flatted grass already
perking, like boy hair in bed at dawn.
And what rich smell of life rise
from all this rotted brown and
crushèd, bleachèd straw, soften
by snow, revealèd by rain,
watch over by bare, black branches
in soft grey air. Pass by
Art Institute lion on way back to store.
Roar back at them.
