The year leapt,
after a mad fatuous February,
we marveled with breath
held hostage
by superstitious calendaric math,
pawns of emperors and popes,
when we had been democratized and spare all January.
Imbolc stirs more than sap,
and uncounted days, winked over,
make permissible what is not strictly bound.
Janus was harsh and abundant
with me in turn, this season.
Whether the leap will rise or fall is remaindered
in months not yet mine.

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