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by Ruth Berman
Melting snow
Runs twisting down the lines
Of sodden yellow grass
Singing in the messy spring
Past old leaves, dogshit,
Unmatched mittens
Lines of grass
Comb the flow—
Bend light in cold water
Colors gleam
Over the tiny distances of crest and trough
Flickering to the deadgrass melody
Of the thaw
Running through
Lawns and gutters
Down the rivers
To the sea