Just before you come to me
in this depth of winter melt,
the sluice overflows,
roof dams run.
I have heard your voice,
a rushing wind, cypress knots.
Tonight I will see
the underbellies of leaves,
the Banyan trees,
their silver throats,
your face — in its lined,
sandy beaches.
I’ll yield to thaw,
to chaos,
calm.
And there, in the blue/black shadow,
in fern-laden loam,
jacks-in-the-pulpit rise,
cattails,
jimson weed and
spores, airborne;
dandelion,
wild mustard:
these fields,
these rivers,
this air.