When the ice goes

I think today of the animal sounds,
how last night a rebellious fox
was barking out like Lucifer.
When the Beaver Moon lit up the ground
oak twigs scratched like mice in a box.
How in March we waited for the Hyla Crucifer,
those playbell peepers, those one-inch twinkletoes
that come with sticky pads into life when the ice goes.

Lines from EIGHTEEN DAYS WITHOUT YOU - December 10th in Love Poems, Anne Sexton (1967)