Spelunking

Into the cave
of winter
I steal,
feel
the cobwebs of cold
hold me back
just inside the gaping mouth.

Under the crown
of snow's bright hope,
I take one careful step
and then another,
bending low
wondering
how far to go.

Then, summer's neat crochet
of brown-leaved lace
tickles my face,
wraps me in last year's shawl--
spring's promise arched
in the grotto's memory
of fall.