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At Winter’s End

Outside, in a cloudless sky
I try to decode scattered wakes
In cuneiform, made by noiseless airplanes-
At right angles to each other, unfurling curls of silvery rickrack
Half tame robins are everywhere, heads cocked
Combing the grass, Fibonacci style
Hoping for the perfect birds eye-
The ambient worm in muddy writhings
The breeze unraveling random love notes
Like trailing kite tails, over newly bared skin
A sensual overload impends, of flying things and air currents
My spirit itself longs to be borne upward now
Home, to the floating ocean
Home, to the plain of stars.

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