First Morning in March for Laura
The birds fly in and I lift my head
to sun broken skies of iron and pearl
trees drawn in a darker lead
icicles hanging from wires uncurl
into old slush slumped in the gutter
the dropping water stutters.
Comes a cry overhead
in a bright dash of red
a cardinal whistling for his mate
where are you where are you
he lays out his bait
and says I am your lover true.
A robin hops down and sings
too late too late
the morning dove turning a ring
mutters too soon too soon
and the crow coughs in his craw
and asks how how?
The cardinal cries to the blue
crack of sky but I see you see you
as all that is left of her sweeps
through the woods and the sun
hides his face and weeps
winter returns and song is done.