Nancy: In March, when we're getting eager for spring, we may, instead, have the worst of the winter storms.
Storm
Say: storm
Say: the wind reminded us of gray wolves
these wolves came out of the north
running
on long legs
Say: storm
Say: wind, snow, cold, and the chief of these,
wind
running out of the north
From this follows the house shaken
the rafters shaken
the cedar sills shaken
the teacups shaken from the shelves on the north wall
broken
From this it follows that the shingles
let in the snow
the windows let it in
the door let it in
on the floor, snow, and a drift on the bed
From this follows cold.
The smoke will not face a wind running out of the north;
fire will not throw itself in the face of the wolves.
Thirty hours.
Say: quiet
you dream the quietest thing you know
in the unaccustomed silence
“Thrushes”, you say when you wake,
“I heard thrushes singing, far,
far away.”
Alan: An unexpected view of a common enough bird – one that begs to become abstracted, but remains its own surprising self.
Kestrel
Not
over the fields
hovering
stooping
hovering
stooping
not
in your Air Element
a symbol of grace
or God,
you
sit,
folded, stiff
and still
as sticks
on the low branch
of forsythia
in leafless
frozen
March,
only your head
making tiny movements
as if reading a newspaper
of dead grass,
scanning
for word of a vole
or oblivious junco
within your
quick grasp;
your small beak
and sideburns
crisp as a gigolo’s moustache,
your russet
breast-feathers
fluffed and showy
as a dowager’s stole,
you
not seeing
this single
chickadee
behind you
popping
with excitement
from twig to twig
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