New Moon, 2026 Feb
The red-wing blackbirds have returned,
I saw one from the train, perched on tall dead grass.
The crows are fewer and fewer,
flying north even through my dreams;
caws shift to whistles and chirps,
overlapping soundtracks at morning.
I am all churned mud and mixed water
at the confluence of welcome and farewell;
snow melt and rain gauges flow
cleansing as tears and deeply rooted.
Buds begin to show on tree branches
gray as bark, as a storm, as a sneeze.
I will settle seeds in soil and sun,
thaw them in blessings of memory as prayer
find me as I thrill to birdsong and daffodils
and blades of grass in the warming days.
