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.