The Next Crossroads

Some days you can read my face Like a map: Origami pressed Into the glove compartment. The creases creeping Along the dead ends And round-a-bouts Speak volumes. But the rest of the week I am well contained: A Japanese instruction booklet. Only the images are universal And half my screws are missing. Don't be surprised If I fall apart.

A careful nose nudges the frozen ground To find rot and insects under the leaves. Small sparrows fly from out of the eaves And abandon the frost without a sound. The great bear lays to rest his hefty pounds While a house cat sits on the porch and grieves For the rodents stealing away like thieves To sleep beneath dead grass and snowy mounds. Until an earlier sun wakes from dreams And bulbs shoot forth from the dank of the earth. Until hatch-lings break free in starving screams And children rush outside singing with mirth. From the winter when skies are cold and gray Comes the hope of waking to a new day.