February 29

An extra day –

Like the painting’s fifth cow,

who looks out directly,

straight toward you,

from inside her black and white spots.

An extra day –

Accidental, surely:

the made calendar stumbling over the real

as a drunk trips over a threshold

too low to see.

An extra day –

With a second cup of black coffee.

A friendly but businesslike phone call.

A mailed-back package.

Some extra work, but not too much –

just one day’s worth, exactly.

An extra day –

Not unlike the space

between a door and its frame

when one room is lit and another is not,

and one changes into the other

as a woman exchanges a scarf.

An extra day –

Extraordinarily like any other.

And still

there is some generosity to it,

like a letter re-readable after its writer has died.