run to see beyond the trees five hundred or so snow geese in their vees – telling travelers’ tales to the island below.
and here, down here, a thousand robins sing their nest-building song – so soon? and the long-tailed ducks? will they leave tonight? on the fifth of march we saw eight, maybe more, and close to shore not a hundred yards from our mail box – we watched them dive while i held a drugstore flyer in my hands – what could be more ordinary? and tonight, i do believe they plan to leave. when they return where will we be?
the wind races through the tops of the trees – the sky flat grey and the temperature is falling again with the light. salmonberries are blooming and the alders’ red catkins cast a warm burnished glow – the curve of the grass covered trail against the snowberries – each perfect thing – each loving old thing – can I wear them? as a garland or wreath, boughs of dougfir and spent deer bones? or graft fallen limbs to the tips of my fingers and wave my hands through the night in the warm storm sky grazing the snow geese as they fly?
monte merrick
This article appears in Where There’s Smoke.