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Sean Conrey
Moving through the poem line by line, I guess I could say that I live in the Westcott neighborhood, and I walk quite a bit. Walking in the spring I often notice that thereís a kind of chilly breeze. Youíre walking around and somehow the overall temperature gets warm, but the windís still cold.

As to the second and third lines, there are all of these books about how tree roots have ways of speaking to each other through the soil, and I like the idea of the nerves within the tree, but also the ambiguity with the person walking past them. Weíre always waiting for that moment for spring to begin; a leaf coming out, one little bud, itís going to happen at some point.

A spring breeze still cold
All nerves beneath the black oak
A new leaf unfurls

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