I ambled the marge
of where we had been—azure—you and I, you
a snowy owl
I had seen wintering here
much south of its arctic ground, in the offbeat warmth
of secular snow, bank barns sinking to silt.
I threw myself from red,
feathers and sweat streaming—an unbridled
are you here?
I could taste the open
cyan sky, flax field, one drifting into the other
without preservation.
What had been found here
apart from the forest gallop from the Sourlands
I threw myself to?
Had the bird found our marshes
while listening to the quake of canal locks
beneath the waking shelter?
I am here below night
feathers down my back, this sun salutation too late—
I wonder where.