Nancy: What a small thing, the bright blue of delphinium on a day of wind and snow. What a promise of change.
You Came In
Winter always yields to spring.
The snow falls heavy
dawn never arrives
twilight comes early
the wind comes up
Where the alders give cover
small birds shelter
just as the ducks
at the clotted edge
of the marsh.
Just as I
stir up the woodstove
And I was sitting there
so far from spring
when you came home
when you walked in
with two stems of delphinium
You came in
with two stems of blue delphinium
that winter always yields
Alan: There are always questions, coming back, aren’t there? Who are we... who are we returning to... has anything changed... is anything the same? The trip only ends when we have the answers.
Seven hours of slow driving –
spitting snow, road grit blasting the windshield –
down the long lane to the house
shockingly dark. Then, rounding the circle,
I see one light in the kitchen:
go in to find you baking
biscuits for my return.
Unpacking the car, I feel the storm
coming on harder, a deep sighing in the woods,
wet tightening my face,
suddenly realize how glad I am to be here
and, after all this time, how much I still love you.
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