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.