March 26 for more precision

tho neither the mountain nor i are

precisely anywhen but forever now

even when my dust is finding work

in grasses, the silky sails of dandelions or

the milkweeds of my small Ontario towns and

in clots of snow that litter the flat lawns

of yesteryear from which green stems begin

to appear by warmer lanes farther down

this cold morning hill from which an

approximate I eyes the still snowy crown

of my morning mountain over there

beyond the river and the town.