Winter storms arrived
lifting the sea, tearing
through the tree tops.
Funneled through
opposing islands
the channel winds
sound their presence
in a deep pulsing thrum.
I linger within,
relieved from the buffeting
as tiny birds flit in the brush,
gathering the last seeds and berries.
I’ve put away what I can
from the long summer arc,
a storehouse of brightly lit days
and star-filled nights,
of green grass
and the smell of corn.
The cave of winter
is dry and warm
with body heat.
I’ll dream of bear
and sleek otter,
of eagle, rabbit
and nattering crows.
I’ll remember
those who are gone
and imagine their returning
in bright young bodies
free of scars and harsh feeling,
eyes open and eager
for the thrill of life.
Reading of “Imagine Their Returning” with music by Van Morrison