An Old Familiar Song

I stepped outside the other day
and on the wind, a voice did say-
"I'm coming soon- do not despair.
I travel quickly on the air."

I stopped and listened even more
To a voice beyond that distant shore
that whispered like a long lost friend-
across the cruel and cutting wind.

I tuned my ears, but barely heard-
The sweet promises in every word.
Then all at once, I heard her sing-
and without a doubt, the song was Spring.

Her voice was lost by a gusty blow
and muffled by a fluff of snow-
And nearly stopped before the gate-
But I screamed to her-"Yes! I will wait!"

An icy chill ran up my spine
and I was lost again in Winter time-
but even though I could not hear-
I know my Spring is somewhere near.

The song grew quiet on cloudy skies
As I watched for her with anxious eyes
My hope. My Spring. My faithful friend.
That never fails to sing again.

I cannot always hear her now-
Amid naked trees and silent plow,
but her song will push through Winter's wall
And surround me with it's pleasant call.

I huddle near the window frame-
and recite her sweet and solemn name.
"Spring, Spring- she comes again!
My ever faithful, loving friend!"

Another Winter

I can take the snow-
it's weight of white
that settles in the wispy trees.

I can take the ice
that forms like cones
when the air starts dropping by degrees.

I can take the cold-
it's shuddering touch
that clouds me with a frigid hand.

I can take the winter-
it's restless soul
that blankets sky and sea and land.

But I grow afraid
with each new day
that my heart will freeze
and stay that way-
A solid mass of ice and chill
that tries to thaw...
but never will.

I Am You

Sometimes
the line between
where you begin
and I end
blurs like
a sweet valentine-
we bleed into one another
like spilled honey-
bound together
in an affectionate nectar
that defies separation.

Yet,
sometimes-
the line between
where you begin
and I end-
clashes like
oil and vinegar.

I am you.

I can't speak.
I can't breathe.

I wear your shoes.
I clip my wings.

I mold into your side
and am smothered
by the darkness.

I am you.
I am you.
I am you.

I Wonder

We owned a cabin once.

A small, one room
musty-smelling house
with fragrant wood heat-
and well water
that you had to pump
into a tin bucket.

But from the screened porch
you could see the forest.
And birds
and deer
and the seasons of the sky.
Sunny days
and thunderstorms
and snowflakes spinning.

We sat there one day
holding hands,
listening to the silence.

Years passed by
before our eyes.

And then we finally got up,
fixed bacon and eggs,
sold the cabin,
and grew old.

I wonder if the oak tree there
still stands against the wind...
If tiny ripe pears
poke out of blooming buds...
If the cherry trees grow
thick and heavy in July...

..If some part of us is still there
on that porch swing,
holding hands.