Hours–
almost a
possessive.
None of these
nights are quite
the same,
a passer-by,
rain showers, and here,
a startling scent
of spring–
something
blooming early
and unseen,
untimely, free
from that tie
that binds
so tightly, so
coarse a cord–
it’s morning,
already, again
OPTIONAL POETRY 
The poem captures the moment with elegance and grace. Loved it .
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Thank you!
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I don’t know if I want, or dread spring time this year.
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I am familiar with the sentiment
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