The squirrel munches away on the corn
that my neighbor put out for him
as she had all winter, his nose twitching
as he sniffs the uncommonly warm air.
He knows what’s coming next, and it’s more
than rain and leaves. It’s the reason why
he breathes. It’s the spark that lights
his fire, the thing that puts the spring
into his leap. It’s the birds and the bees
and the girls in the trees. And he smells
it in the air, and it’s right around the corner.