The smoke of my own breath

Lingers in the grey grey air

The city, too, is grey

(Spring should not be this bare

Or cold)

Where is the green?

Spring is unrepresented

Against grey grate metal and

Concrete

(The only color here

Is the cars)

The hot air smoke from the subway

Lingers above the sidewalk

Translucent

And warm as it drifts

(Warmer than the city air)

February

Is the cruelest month

It carries no hint of spring.