On a mild day the earth drinks its tea and then begins
to sing again even the trees pause to notice, the
air is a velvet coat that everyone wants
to wear the sky
becomes a stair down which descend
the migrating birds as if to say
heaven is not so far away
they sing that song
each winter
when deep in snow we think that March will never come
but here it is in a green dress and the peach
rouge of sunset and the earth
begins to breathe again
and even the highway quiets down for one long
in-between moment, almost long enough
to recognize just what kind what
sound what geese
are passing
by.