Poem #2,780 | You Know

You know one of these cold
mornings will be one of our
last – that almost-changing
of season we are reconciled
to is now [all heel-dragging
of shifts between phases of
weather patterns] – it’s now
we notice no stop-starts on
hedgerows – fooling shoots
of green enquiry feel for air
that may not now be crisp –
I expect a sharp frost to hit
before May – perhaps a last
ever on this fancy latitude?