the great blue heron is back for the summer.
where had it gone all winter long?
did its wide wings strain the sunlight
like us when we were coming back home?
the sun is laughing in a sinister voice
deep and warm, its eyes all red;
parenthetically it never understood us,
the housecat sleeping at the foot of my bed.
the white tailed deer is cleaning in the clearing;
tidying and setting the table for the feast,
and you, my darling, I love the way
you walk the trails. your back muscles flexing,
your tired jaw slack, your skin shining,
your toes tracing all the way down
the tired trails and their lonely stones.