“An old friend likes to call when it’s bitterly cold
and announce its seventy-seven and sunny in Florida.
as if I’ve made a mistake by staying here.

But he’s forgotten how royal blue Lake Calhoun is after ice out.
He’s forgotten the sound of melt water falling into storm sewers
and of suddenly friendly strangers conversing on the #4 bus.

He’s forgotten the swoon-worthy scents of new mud,
of fresh earth and of wind and melting snow.
He’s forgotten about how the ice shines

and the redemption of once again paying for our sins
by surviving another Minnesota winter.