A song, through the wind to my ears. A robin withdraws from spatting sparrows to rest in April snow.
Wordless, sparks in the mist, crystal airwaves of the evening sky land on my hood.
I sense your presence, unseen and formless. Or is it here I see you?
Low branches, laden with snow rich as cream, point and sway like accusatory fingers as I pass. I remember then
those pews of my youth, where I once sat hunched and unmoved. Those words could not tame me.
Now, wings lift her body branch to branch, head bowed at berries and
I hunger for your words as I close my eyes in prayer.