The sparrows and the martins—
Fly back and forth–to spring
They feel no icy footprint–
Or any unwelcome thing
If any leaf–turns less than green–
They turn their eyes away–
They must have color–in the view
They loathe the white and gray–
My heart’s a different traveler
That tends to fly–alone–
Seeking cool reception in
Less comfortable–zones
Brightness fools it into feeling–
a lonely thing to say–
Turn off the green–turn off the blue–
And then–it finds its way.
You can’t be like a martin
If you have–a human Soul
There is no way to travel–
With a heart–so light–and full
The sparrow rises in the air–
Her Song a holy office–
The human heart–only hears
The cracking sound–of ice
We dream of winds that lift our wings
To heaven, until–but then—
December comes, and takes our Soul
To winter and back again
ohdave 