Remnants of the Thaw,

gargoyle generals perch at the frayed edges

where will and heart collide,

talons claiming territory long held

by wintry grapple hooks.

Softer places have long-receded hairlines,

but strongholds will not easily

surrender to Spring sunlight.

Resistance fighters

set up perimeters,

deflect detection,

resort to guerrilla warfare,

pulling punches designed to discourage all inroads

into sensitive spaces;

so I

invite the Light

to shine the brightest here,

where angels fear to tread.

I watch gargoyles

give up the ghost

and limp,

liquefied,

 wax to a flame,

puddling at my feet,

whimpering to my shouts of

triumph.