The pussy willow showed its furry catkins
early during a warm February week and
are now covered with heavy March snow.
We want to be optimistic. The universe
sometimes agrees – and sometimes laughs at us.
From the sandy hillside, this tricolored heron
walks the stone steps with more dignity
than our President, and surveys this world.
As it was in the beginning, now
my intercessions rise with his winged leaving.
By degrees, words slip into my mind
and spin into lines that make sense
in this fevered moment, but will later
read as the impassioned words of another –
madman, prophet, troubled soul, friend, lover, murderer.
Walking through, you too are on display.
All of us, visitors, observing, studying, interpreting
what we see, trying to find meaning
and connection. I quietly study you studying.
And I pencil sketch our life together.
Like Jupiter, I am now poised, stationary,
beginning my retrograde motion back in time.
That king planet’s eastern journey turns west.
Or so it appears. I’m reverse orbiting,
hoping to undo some things done counterclockwise.