I suppose they had to come

sooner or later-

the distant honks

of the returning geese,

wings in arabesque,

feathers preened

by northern lights.

.

They are early this year,

winter barely wore all her flounces,

now passe with the sudden return

of the prodigal sons.

'

Those secret nooks, insulted

by spring's yellow sun, are curtained

and set aside for winter trysts

with books of poetry juggling

nouns and verbs for proper sequence

on the page.

.

The teals will come,

the cicadas will hum,

heat will hang like pendulous breasts,

and then ,

and then,

the geese will fly away again,

wings in arabesque.

.

The secret room unlocks -

the hearth has a warm smile,

and the words flow again

like maple syrup from the tap,

when the geese are gone,

and dusk comes early, wearing

a grey winter cap.

02/11/2005