I came home in the deepening
days of winter soon after you arrived.
The snow had left by the time
you came into my home, and, like stirring
embers of last night’s fire, we raked
the softly smoldering coals
out from the Ashes. They sparked
and flared; as the flames grew
warmer, we huddled closer to the flames.
It rose into your cheeks then glowed
from your eyes as a pale-blue
light began trickling through the window.
While flying south, the songbird feels
a wind in its wings that is new yet familiar.
Spring, dawn, the changing of climates,
or the passing of one time to another
is hardly strange; perhaps the grass
is longer, the sun rose earlier, or even
the rolling fields lead to mountains
in their distance. Flying south, see the leaves
shake and sway as they change from brown
to red to green. A flash of color: a wing
or an eye among the palm fronds.
Come morning, two bluebirds sing
to each other and the sun.