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.